


Mass Effect: Sacrifice

by Crimson_Coin



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 166,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Coin/pseuds/Crimson_Coin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard has to unite an unlikely team against the Collectors. How will he save the galaxy amidst the threat of mercenaries, politics, and his growing emotional entanglement with Miranda Lawson? Adds more depth to the Miranda/Shepard romance. ME2 (Rating changed to 'E' for explicit later chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect or any of its characters. They are products of BioWare, EA and certainly not me. This fan fiction is for entertainment purposes; no profit or intrusion of copyright is intended.

John Shepard stared out the portside window of the shuttle blasting through the thick atmosphere of Horizon. The colonial settlement disappeared out of sight as the shuttle soared through the cloud cover. He said little while his team waited for the shuttle extraction and spoke no words of encouragement or correction on the flight back to the orbiting Normandy.

Garrus cracked his stiff neck, adjusting the battered armor around his shoulders as he watched his friend stare aimlessly out the window. “She was emotional, Shepard. She wasn’t thinking straight. Her loyalties, to me, seem clear. Right or wrong, she’s for the Alliance. And whether you like it or not, we’re with Cerberus, at least for now. I’m starting to think that is not such a bad thing.”

Jack scoffed, leaning back in her seat, legs spread for comfort. “Alliance … Cerberus. I say good riddance. We already have one cheerleader on board. Don’t need another.”

“Ash is no cheerleader,” Shepard finally spoke, turning hardened eyes towards the smart mouthed convict. “She’s a skilled and fierce soldier. Loyal.”

Jack huffed and crossed her arms defensively, looking out the window to the planet. “Loyal to who? Doesn’t look like it’s you. Loyalty means shit anyway. All it does is bite ya in your ass when you’re not looking.”

Shepard gazed out the window again, mind wandering to times of the past, when Ashley chose him. Two years passed for Liara, Ashley, and Garrus but the time felt only months to his consciousness.

The shuttle sailed into the docking bay of the Normandy and landed. Shepard stood, holding the cross bars along the roof of the shuttle for balance before walking to the door. He waited until the cargo hold pressure returned to normal then opened the hatch door.

Without looking back, Shepard tore the visor from his head. His fingers scratched at the short hair on the back of his head where the visor clung. Fist clenching the metallic bands of his visor, he stormed out the door of the cargo hold to the elevator and waved his hand over the sensor to call it.

Miranda walked down the hallway towards the cargo hold, a tablet in her hand. “Commander.”

Shepard ignored the call as the elevator door opened and he stepped inside.

“Commander,” she repeated a little louder but the door closed and the elevator ascended.

“Give him a few hours.” Garrus said simply from the cargo hold door. “It wasn’t a pleasant experience down there.”

Jack brushed past the turian, bumping into him purposefully. “Be honest with the cheerleader.” She taunted and eyed Miranda. “I guess not everyone wants to join the great Commander Shepard and Cerberus on their suicide mission across the galaxy.” Jack shook her head as she turned from the two and walked towards engineering.

“I think some of the colonists survived.” Garrus continued, addressing Miranda. “By getting the defense system up, the collector vessel launched and left without all of the colonists. The colonists we saw appeared to be in a state of stasis, conscious but frozen.”

“Interesting. I wonder if the stasis wears off after a certain exposure time or if there must be a cure injected. Or perhaps it’s permanent.”

Garrus shrugged and shook his head. “No idea but I don’t think it’s permanent. While waiting for the shuttle, Jack and I collected some data and a few more samples for Solus.”

“Good,” Miranda nodded and tapped some of the virtual keys on her tablet. Garrus reached past Miranda to queue the elevator. He waited patiently, watching the Cerberus officer as she tapped and slid her fingers across the tablet. When the elevator door opened, he stepped inside; Miranda followed.

Garrus glanced at the woman beside him and just before the elevator arrived on the third floor, he addressed her. “Ashley Williams was on Horizon. She refused to come with us though.” The door opened. “Tell your puppeteer. I’m sure he’d be interested in that.” He stepped out of the elevator and turned down the hall.

Miranda froze in the elevator and looked up, watching the retreating back of the turian agent. She exited the elevator and headed immediately to her office. The office door opened and closed for her. At the closure, the Illusive man’s voice sounded from the tablet. “Good.” He exhaled in a hiss – cigarette smoke. “Operations Chief Williams would have been a liability aboard this ship and a possible mole for the Alliance. She is not to be trusted.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. It appears she refused his offer to join us.” Miranda answered, simply and set the tablet on the stand upon her desk.

“I want you to watch him.” Illusive man stated, exhaling again. “I won’t have any emotional distractions keeping him from his purpose. I will call.”

“Of course,” Miranda nodded, obediently. “Just … give him some time.”

“Time? I need his mind in the mission, not on some Alliance woman puttering around on a lost colony.”

“I understand,” Miranda defended. “Shepard will be ready. This is all still new. As far as his mind is concerned, anything with Chief Officer Williams was merely months ago, not years.”

“I want his mind on this mission, Miranda, and nothing else. Is that understood? It is far too important for the survival of our species.”

“Understood.”

The tablet disconnected; Miranda sat in the silence, staring at the blank screen. Leaning forward in her chair, she accessed the security terminals through the systems on her desk. Cerberus installed hidden cameras and microphones throughout the ship – a benefit to keep track of all crew members and Commander Shepard. Miranda was the only person aboard the Normandy with knowledge of their existence and access to them.

With a frustrated roar, Shepard kicked his armor chest piece across his cabin to the corner where his greaves lay, victim to a similar fate. The metal piece skidded and clanked across the floor before clashing into the greaves, rocking on its edge then stilled. He paced from the bed, to his armor then back to the bed before plopping down with a sigh. Ducking his head in his hands, he released a long slow steady breath.

He focused on his discipline, suppressing emotions for the moment, unwilling to examine anything. His efforts unsuccessful, he stood and paced to the empty fish tanks at the corner of his cabin and stared at the bubbling water. Anger fueled by feelings of confusion, betrayal and simple uncertainty and frustration.

When his suicide mission began, he hoped to reunite his trusted team. Ashley, Garrus, Wrex, Liara, Tali. Every name he offered to the Illusive man was defeated with a believable excuse. Tali refused him but after finding Garrus, his hope heightened; after all if the turian joined him, he could convince the others. Ashley Williams proved a far more difficult ally to convince.

When they met on Horizon, Ashley greeted him with a combination of disbelief, relief and even happiness. A short-lived happy reunion quickly plummeted when she discovered his association with Cerberus and his willing acceptance of the fate. She had said she loved him. But didn’t trust Cerberus.

Why did he so easily hand his allegiance to Cerberus after everything that happened? So many crimes committed and he only knew of a handful. The Shepard from two years ago never so easily sacrificed his will and allegiance to an organization known for such atrocities, whether towards human or alien. Apparently death and two years changed a man.

Ashley’s trust of Cerberus was not the memory in the forefront of that conversation nor was it the point that tore at him the most. Ashley used the term ‘Loved’ – past tense. In conclusion, she loved him but no longer. He placed no blame on her after all he had been dead for two years, how long could she dwell on him. For her sanity, she had to move on and continue with her life. That strength and focus dominated her personality and he expected nothing less.

Yet, his anger stemmed not from lost love or even Ashley’s refusal to join Cerberus. Disappointed with his inability to recruit and hold a friend he trusted with his life after everything they had shared especially when confusion and uncertainty overwhelmed him despite his obligation to Cerberus. Guilt at the realization that love was never a word he used to describe his relationship with Ashley; desperate emotional release, maybe, but not love. Finally, unbridled fury simmered at Cerberus’s sly entrapment and warped manipulation of his sense of honor, duty and hero complex. If not he then who else would save the fucking galaxy?

He validated his decision to work with Cerberus on three aspects swallowing the true emotions lingering from his association with the organization. The first, money. The second, ship. The third, the alliance ignored the signs. Ashley’s words on Horizon proved his suspicions when she spoke of Cerberus being behind the attacks on the colonies. Collectors attacked the colonies, not Cerberus.

As an elitist organization committed to the preservation and advancement of humanity, Cerberus took the initiative in facing the Reapers, a foe responsible for the extinction of countless species throughout galactic history. If the alliance preferred to lie and dance around truths, Shepard opted to seek assistance where it was offered. But at what cost?

Ashley’s refusal to join him wounded the confidence in his ability to recruit, to gain trust and to succeed. Instead of seeing reason, as Garrus did, she instead remained loyal to an organization refusing to see truth behind political warfare.

Shepard paced from the fish tank to the desk and picked up the small picture frame, staring at the picture of Ashley Williams inside the metallic frame. When he first arrived on the Normandy, his first action in his cabin was to find the picture of her. Nightly the last few weeks, he looked at the picture wondering when the emotions he thought he was supposed to feel would surface; they didn’t. As the evenings passed, the picture evolved in his mind. Oddly, there was a sense of loss but more from nostalgia and not raw emotion. Little connection remained as if something disjointed between the current man and the man of two years ago. He wondered if he was the exact same person brought back to life. Did the Lazarus Project work? Was he the same man?

“Commander,” Joker’s voice rang through the cabin from the communication device. “Commander, do you have a course?”

In a vain attempt to bend the metallic frame, Shepard clenched his fist. “I don’t care.”

“Well, should we just stay in orbit around Horizon?”

Shepard grunted. “Joker, you have all of the coordinates of where we need to go. Just pick one, and set the fucking course.”

“Ouch.” Joker responded with his usual sarcastic slant. “Alright then, surprise surprise. Hold on.” The communications feed ended.

He looked at the picture again and shook his head. He walked to the garbage chute and opened the hatch. His hand holding the frame hovered over the opening. Fist clenching, the metal digging into flesh he willed his grip to release the frame. Growling his frustration, he slammed shut the hatch for the garbage chute and winding up, flung the picture towards the pile of his armor. The frame crashed into the wall then dropped to the floor behind the armor.

Miranda sat back in her chair, watching Shepard toss the only physical memory of his past with Ashley Williams. Curious to his motives, she leaned a little closer, eyes narrowed slightly to focus best she could on his face in an attempt to read his expression, infer to his emotion. He gave little away.

EDI popped up at the small terminal in Shepard’s cabin to announce the Illusive man’s request for Shepard’s audience. Shepard responded with authority. “Tell the Illusive man to go fuck himself. I’ll be there when I’m ready for him.”

Miranda arched a brow at the statement yet she could not help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. She never dreamed of using a tone like that when the Illusive man summoned her. Flicking a switch on her terminal, she disconnected the feed.

+++

For three weeks after Horizon, Shepard kept the Normandy in deep space, mining planets for minerals and assigning upgrades to the ship, crew armor and weaponry. In his time away from the map and his terminal, he visited the crew members, listening to their stories and offering to help them in their requests. After all, they offered to accompany him on a suicide mission. In return, they deserved a favor and without hesitation, Shepard agreed to their every request.

Jack wanted revenge on an abandoned Cerberus facility responsible for her childhood torment. Grunt needed to find purpose in life. Jacob desired closure with the disappearance and sudden possible reappearance of his father. He expected more requests to follow in the coming days.

Early one morning while most of the crew slept, Shepard aimlessly walked through the ship, unable to sleep. He checked the status of the mining probes, patrolled the cargo hold and the crews quarters before entering the mess hall. He paused; surprised Miranda’s door was unlocked - when asleep, she often locked her door.

Waving his hand over the queue for the door, he stepped inside when it opened. Miranda’s eyes darted quickly to him at his entrance, obviously unexpected. She appeared tired, worried and completely unlike the Miranda he came to know.

It surprised him how her icy and stoic exterior slowly peeled away as she exposed more of herself to him and finally spoke of her sister, Oriana. Of course, he agreed to help.

Upon their first meeting, he treated Miranda with cautious trust; after all she saved his life and her face was the first he remembered seeing after waking up from a long darkness. He remembered little of the time he was dead, whether nothing happened or simply the thoughts and memories didn’t transfer into corporal form, he didn’t know. But after so long in darkness, when his eyes finally opened, he saw her.

Miranda. He heard the name, watched her pace and bark orders as his heart rate raced and his blood pressure rose. Relief flooded her expression when whatever injections she demanded appeared to take effect. Her face the last he saw, her voice the last he heard before darkness consumed him again. That familiar voice.

In that strange state of unconsciousness, his mind focused on the few events it could remember, bits and pieces of a time in the past, a time so long ago and yet only years. Connections and understandings slowly developed as he regained the memories of his past and yet the vision and voice of Miranda lingered, the forefront of his memory.

Her voice awoke him during the attack on the Cerberus station. A familiar tone, the very sound almost comforting, alluring however unlike his previous memories of the sound, her tone sharpened with warning as she ordered him awake and guided him through the station.

Then, she disappeared; her communication link dropped.

He finally saw her again near the shuttle bay in her white honeycombed cat suit, eyes narrowed in anger as she lifted her pistol and shot Wilson in the throat. Shepard drew his gun instantly; his cautious trust wavered at the act. Granted, he found Wilson suspicious but to shoot on sight snapped him into action. Pointing his pistol at her head, he questioned her and her calm explanation soothed him.

How easily she calmed him, convinced him. Why?

After escaping the Cerberus facility and speaking with the Illusive man, he confronted Miranda and discovered she wanted to implant a chip in his head to control him. Though she claimed such a chip was never inserted, he curiously wondered to the truth of that statement.

If there was no chip in his head, why the hell couldn’t he tear his eyes away from that infuriating woman?

The next day, Shepard leaned against the wall of the mess hall, watching a majority of the crew enjoying their evening meal. Despite the severity of their scenario, many still tried to emit a sense of hope. Some laughed and joked while other’s smiled and teased. A few remained somber in thought, especially those with families on fringe colonies.

To the right across the way, the door to Miranda’s office opened with a whoosh and the Cerberus operative stepped out. His eyes lingered as she approached the mess Sergeant and took one of the offered plates of food before returning to her quarters.

How quickly two months passed aboard the Normandy. What was it about Miranda Lawson that always drew his attention? Granted, the tight form fitting cat suit, near perfect appearance and seductive femme fatale beauty helped. But it was something more. She pulled at him, his eyes, his attention, his concern and his mind offered no explanation to the unseen power she held over him.

Joker leaned against the wall beside Shepard, arms crossed to mimic his commander’s stance. His eyes followed Shepard’s until Miranda entered her office. The saucy pilot nodded then nudged Shepard with an elbow. “You’d have to be dead not to want to crawl up into that suit, huh?” He mimicked the sound of a cat. “Re-ow. She can stretch me over an operating table any day.”

Shepard smirked then laughed unable to hold it back. He shook his head. “You do realize that I was unconscious for a majority of those two years she had me on an operating table.

“Hah,” Joker scoffed. “That doesn’t matter. She can take me unconscious too. Hell she can strap me into any one of those archaic torture devices. As long as she sits in my lap while she does it.”

“Joker …” Shepard warned smoothly though a smirk punctured his usually serious veneer.

“Alright alright. Just saying is all.”

“Set us a course for Illium.”

“Illium?” Joker perked at that. “Aye, aye, sir!” Always excited to fly, he limped towards the elevator with a beaming grin on his face.

Shepard waited for Joker to round the corner to the elevator then finally turned his attention back to Miranda’s door. Logically, Illium was the next place to visit. Dossiers from the Illusive man for two potential allies as well as Liara’s presence proved too difficult to pass up. Of course Illium was also the world Miranda asked to visit to save her sister. And God help him, despite the outcome he intended to help her first even at the cost of losing a potential team member.

Walking to the elevator, he rationalized his decision; Miranda Lawson implanted a chip in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first journey onto Illium, Shepard recruited Grunt, the genetically modified Krogan, to accompany Miranda and himself. He knew the Krogan itched for battle, evidenced by the trail of destruction in the cargo hold he called home on the Normandy. Shepard eyed Grunt as they waited at the airlock. “Can I trust you not to just shoot anything that moves? What we’re here for is a bit … delicate.”

Grunt grunted and picked up his shotgun, resting the barrel against his shoulder. “If they shoot first, I shoot everything.”

“Within reason.” Shepard injected. “If someone is cowering in a corner, try not to shoot them.”

“Hmm,” Grunt pondered those words. “I will consider it.”

Miranda eyed the Krogan with restrained threat. “If you shoot my sister, I will filet you and eject your carcass into space.”

Grunt held Miranda’s gaze, clearly impressed. “A strong female is good for the clan. Wise choice, Shepard.”

Shepard quickly intervened before Miranda spoke. “Look, let’s just get down there and get Miranda’s sister out safe. That’s the plan.”

Grunt nodded, following Shepard off the Normandy. The squad explored the trade district of the city of Nos Astra before finally finding Miranda’s contact. Shepard stepped back in his command, asking Miranda for her choices, letting her make the decisions. In a search and rescue for her sister, Miranda deserved the responsibility of the choices to be made. He knew if he made the wrong choices, blame fell upon him and even if Miranda forgave him, he never would forgive himself.

In speaking with the contact, Shepard heard the name Niket, a name Miranda never mentioned before. Despite her trust in the man, Shepard remained skeptical. His internal warning system resounded yet he could not pinpoint exactly what irked him. Miranda assured him Niket was a friend; Shepard, still reserved, trusted her. 

They found Niket in one of the docking bays with Captain Enyala, an Eclipse mercenary paid to assist in the retrieval of Oriana. Without hesitation, the mercenary raised her gun. In seconds, Miranda raised her weapon.

Shepard tucked his assault rifle into his shoulder and peered down the sight at the Eclipse Commando. Again, he deferred to Miranda, glancing at her from the corner of his eye; her hand trembled, voice still stern but clipped with emotion. Soon Niket admitted his betrayal and the payment received from Miranda’s father. 

Niket’s betrayal wounded her, pierced the usual strong and stoic demeanor. Her only trusted childhood friend sold his loyalty to the highest bidder without even asking Miranda to explain herself or a consideration to the woman who trusted him fully.  
In her rage, Miranda stepped forward and her thumb flicked the safety off from her pistol as she aimed the barrel at Niket. Shepard intervened, pushing her arm up into the air. “Miranda, don’t”. He knew if she pulled the trigger, forever would she live with the guilt and grief. 

Her eyes flickered in the smallest sense of relief before she turned back to Niket. “I never want to see you again.”

The Eclipse Commando, Captain Enyala, shot Niket in the back.

Miranda’s fury exploded and in a blast of biotic power, she lashed out against the Asari woman. Shepard shoved Grunt, commanding him to take cover before diving behind a crate. Miranda blasted Enyala across the cargo bay. Glowing blue, she raced to the edge and took cover beside a collection of barrels.

Keeping low during the ammo fire, Shepard watched Miranda, ensuring she remained in control and acted with smart caution, not blinding anger. Convinced of her control, he turned his attention to the enemy, peering around corners of his cover to gauge the battlefield. He exchanged his assault rifle for the sniper rifle on his back then quickly took aim over his crate, aiming for Enyala’s head.

Her shields proved trouble but his disruptor and incendiary ammo assisted in bringing down her shields and armor. Miranda and Grunt ducked low, pinned by the crossfire about twenty feet away. She peeked up over her cover but a heated shot skimmed past her ear. She hid again and her eyes sought Shepard’s. 

Her expression controlled, angered yet her eyes screamed of the pain of betrayal. A primal almost possessive need surged through his body and his mind. With careless abandon amidst the crossfire, he twisted and kneeled, resting the barrel of his sniper rifle on the edge of his crate. He focused through the scope, setting Enyala in his crosshairs.

Thermal shots whizzed past his head, one striking his shoulder. He grunted and clenched his teeth as his armor dropped but he kept his focus on the shot. He faintly heard Miranda call his name, her order to get down muffled as he aimed. 

Two more seconds. He waited for Enyala to emerge from her cover. Another shot graced his neck, cutting through the flesh then instantly cauterizing. He ignored the pain. 

One second. Enyala peered up over her crate. Shepard fired.

The Asari dropped. Shepard groaned and pressed his back up against the crate, taking cover again. A soft hand touched his chest; Miranda crouched beside him. “You ass … you’re trying to get yourself killed?”

He forced a chuckle at that and rolled his wounded shoulder. “I had to get her. She cued the elevator. Couldn’t let her get away.”

Miranda searched his eyes a moment and during the lull of cross fire, she aimed over the box and shot her pistol, killing the last two standing eclipse operatives. Grunt reloaded his weapon then glanced to the commander. “Brave … but foolish. You may yet prove to be worthy of my presence.”

“Thanks,” Shepard grunted and rolled his shoulder, feeling into the bullet wound then pulled out his finger coated in blood. “Shit.”

“Your wound is minor.” Grunt replaced his assault rifle with a shotgun and pumped it then walked towards some of the corpses, looting them for credits and ammunition.

Miranda inspected the wound on his neck then the piercing on his shoulder. Unfastening the armor plate covering his shoulder, she removed it to better see the wound. His shields regenerating, the wound stopped bleeding and scabbed. Pushing the shoulder plate into his stomach, she stood. She inspected the other corpses while Shepard pushed up onto his feet and cracked his neck before reattaching his armor plate. She lingered by Niket’s body; Shepard and Grunt kept clear.

Miranda knelt, staring at the blank face and lifeless eyes of the only childhood friend she’d ever known. A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye and she reached up to furiously wipe it away. Releasing a shaky sigh, she gently closed Niket’s eyes.  
On the elevator down to the main part of the city, Shepard soothed her concerns and uncertainties about Niket and learned a little more of her past, her hatred for her father and her vindication in taking her sister away. She easily threw everything away from a past life but clung to Niket, a man who appeared to embody the only happy memories from her childhood.

“You can’t toss aside everything you care about just to be safe.” He said simply and his pride swelled in her when she finally acknowledged her own strength. It seemed she realized her power was not just because of genetics but her choices and execution of actions. He smiled when she included him in her list of people for whom she trusted and cared. He included her on his list as well though he withheld that information from her.

In the city, he convinced Miranda to speak with her sister and he smirked when she finally listened and walked towards Oriana. Grunt watched as well then turned towards Shepard. “I doubted you, Shepard. On first inspection of your human female, I concluded she was far too squishy and fleshy to be of any use in battle especially in that white thing. No armor at all. I am glad she proved me wrong. Even squishy fleshy ones have strength, just not always in physical power, but something I do not fully understand.”

Shepard nodded, eyes unwavering from Miranda. “She is an amazing fighter. I trust her in battle with my life. Her powers are called biotics. I don’t really understand them, myself. I’m just a soldier. All I know is that a biotic basically thinks something and they can destroy it but I have no idea how they actually do it. I’m told I have the abilities, but I’ve never figured it out. But Miranda is accurate with a gun and powerful with her gifts. She’s irreplaceable.”

Grunt nodded. “Hmmm, interesting.” He rumbled deeply. “You have made a wise choice in a mate.”

“What?” Shocked, Shepard looked away from Miranda at the Krogan. “Mate? No, Miranda is not my … mate. She’s a trusted crew member and friend. Nothing more.”

“I see.” Grunt responded with a curious glance at Miranda. “I was under the impression that staring is a human ritual to denote attraction which is then consummated through the act of mating. Am I incorrect?”

Shepard cleared his throat and shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Where the hell did you learn that? Okeer whisper that in your ear?”

Grunt shook his head. “I have been using that … computer terminal. I am amazed at the information available. You ask it anything, and it answers you.”

“The wonders of the extra-net.” Shepard grumbled.

Grunt squinted in focus on Miranda then looked back to Shepard. “So you just have not mated yet. I understand now. This is some pre-courtship ritual. You humans are bizarre little fleshy things. It seems logical. You are a strong and worthy warrior as is she. Your mating will bring strong and worthy children.”

“Drop it, Grunt.” Shepard warned dangerously, glaring at the Krogan.

Grunt shook his head, confused. “More strange fleshy thing customs. Being embarrassed of your own nature.”

Shepard crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the nearby ledge of the walkway, waiting for Miranda.

Oriana pulled Miranda aside, excusing herself from her parents as she spoke with the new sister of whom she never knew. “So you mean, the anonymous scholarship for schooling was you?”

Miranda nodded. “Well yes. I wanted to make sure you had every opportunity available.”

Oriana gripped her sister’s hand tightly. “That’s wonderful. I … I never knew I had a guardian from the sky looking out for me. My parents and I were baffled when the notice of the scholarship came in. Thank you. Thank you so much.”  
Miranda smiled at that, eyes warm at her sister’s open and accepting reception.

“I’m glad you have someone looking out for you too.” Oriana whispered to her then glanced to her left at Shepard. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you’ve been here. He’s good looking too.”

Miranda peered to her right to see Shepard glaring at Grunt. “He’s a good friend. If not for him, I couldn’t have been here and helped you this way. He’s proven far more than I ever thought he would.”

“Friend?” Oriana chuckled. “He looks at you as if he wants to devour you. I must say, I’m a little jealous."

“Now you’re being simply ridiculous.”

“Hey, remember,” Oriana interrupted. “I’m just as smart as you and I can tell.”

Miranda sighed. “My … mission is too important for such things. I can’t be distracted. Hormones and emotions would just get in the way.”

Worried, Oriana stepped closer and whispered. “Is it dangerous? Are you going to get hurt?”

Miranda smiled softly in an attempt to reassure her sister. “No. No it’s not that dangerous. Just very important.”

“You’re lying to me, Miranda.” Oriana stated flatly but smiled softly, negating her strong tone. “It must be very dangerous. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

Miranda nodded, dampness forming in her eyes though no tears fell. “I’ll be careful.”

Oriana hugged Miranda tightly. “And give your Commander the benefit of the doubt.” She whispered. “If any man looked at me the way he’s looking at you right now, I think I’d throw myself at him.”

Miranda returned the embrace. “None of that now until your schooling is done.”

Oriana eased back. “I always found that if they’re looking at you when you don’t think they are …”

“Ori,” Miranda warned though her expression still warm. “Enough.”

“Fine,” Oriana sighed. “Suit yourself. Just be careful, ok? And come back soon when you have more time. And write.”

“I will.”

Shepard pushed off of the ledge when Miranda approached and followed her towards the elevator to the docking bay. He stood behind her in the elevator shuttle, eyes on her. Miranda peered back over her shoulder at him and smirked. Perhaps Oriana was right. He was looking.

Oriana smiled warmly at her sister as the door closed.  
+++  
Back aboard the Normandy, Shepard reported to the doctor to have his wounds inspected. Shallow and cauterized, the doctor assured him everything was fine. Using some of the medi-gel aboard, she lathered a little into each wound and smiled warmly when they sealed and healed. 

“There you are,” The doctor said. “Good as new. Well almost new.”

“Thanks, Doctor.” Shepard drawled and rolled his shoulder, inspecting the healing tissue. “Little too close on a couple a shots there.” He pulled his shirt back on and tugged it around his waist.

“No problem at all, Commander. Anything else?”

“Yeah, what is the status of the med bay upgrade?”

“It’s coming along just fine, Commander. We will be fully upgraded within 48 hours. And if you still desire it, your scars will be no more.”

Shepard reached up and self consciously touched one of the brilliant scars on his face that had not healed due to his early awakening on the Cerberus vessel after his reconstruction. “I still want it.” He grinned boyishly. “Can’t really charm my way out of situations looking like this.”

The doctor chuckled and shook her head. “It’s not as bad as you think. They have healed a little. They are not as brilliantly bright and open as they were when you first arrived. But I do understand should you wish to go through with the procedure. It will only take about an hour.”

“Thanks again, Doctor.” Shepard turned to the door. “Let me know when you’re ready for me.”

“Will do, Commander.”

Shepard left the medical bay and crossed the mess hall to Miranda’s office. He waved his hand over the sensor and stepped inside.

Miranda sat at her desk, watching one of the displays. At his entrance she glanced up at him and smiled softly, leaning forward. “Thanks again, Shepard. Taking the time to help me with my sister?” She slowly shook her head, eyes downcast slightly. “I couldn’t have reached Oriana in time without your help.”

She stood and crossed the room towards the open window and sat in the chair overlooking the vast calm of space. “I’m glad Niket tried to redeem himself, for what good it did.” Crossing her legs, she leaned back. Shepard watched her every move, unable to look away as his eyes drifted low then focused on her legs as they crossed. “Thank you for stopping me, Commander.”

He quickly caught himself and focused on her face as he approached her and stood beside her. “Are you happy about your sister’s relocation?”

“She has what I wanted her to have.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “A normal life and the freedom to decide her own path.” With a soft smile, Miranda gazed back out the window. “And she knows she has an older sister. A friend.” Her voice softened in reflection.

“Are you gonna talk to her again?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Miranda responded and twisted slightly in the chair, uncrossing then re-crossing her legs, one arm stretched out over the back of the chair. “For once, I haven’t planned that far ahead. I’ll deal with it after our mission. I have to stay focused and she needs time to adjust to her new home.”

 

Curiously, he watched her. “You never told me what you talked about.”

“I introduced myself. Her family was shocked.” Miranda answered smoothly as Shepard paced behind her. “She adjusted quickly, of course.” She smirked at the memory. “Hmmf, she’s as smart as I am.” Miranda leaned forward slightly in recollection of their first discussion. “She plays the violin. Loves the Adagio movement of Nielson’s Fifth. Just like I do. She wants to work in colony development. Told a joke about it. She’s really funny. Something we don’t share.” Miranda sat back, a bitter twinge delivered in the last sentence.

Shepard paced to the window. “It’s funny. I usually think of you as all business. It’s good to see there’s a person in there.” He teased with a hint of playfulness in his eyes.

Miranda smiled, eyes locked on him and she stood, slowly taking a step toward him to close the distance. She reached out with a hand, gently touching his shoulder where the incendiary ammo pierced him. Shepard held her eyes and smiled, brow lifted in curious expectation.

She swallowed and leaned back into her hip slightly away from him as her hand fell away. “This mission is too important to let personal feelings interfere.”

Shepard stepped closer, drawn to her.

“But thank you, Commander.” She continued calmly. “My sister is safe again thanks in large part, to you.” Grateful, her expression softened. The usual hard and icy demeanor melted away in her gratitude. “I won’t forget that.” She turned from him and returned to her desk, sitting down to access the terminals.

Shepard stared at her, eyes unwavering as he reminded himself to breathe. He thought she would kiss him when she reached out and touched him. Her smile soft, gentle and grateful as she searched his eyes and face for a reaction. He had smiled in encouragement. Her initial statement of the mission priority deflated his confidence but any uncertainty dissipated as quickly as it surfaced. 

The last man Miranda allowed herself to trust sold himself to the highest bidder. Of course, she reacted with caution and focused on the mission. Shepard knew he should focus on the mission as well, discarding any emotion until they saved the world. Experienced with the pains of emotion, logic dictated that Shepard abandon any desire for attachment and emotional connection aside from allied loyalty.

So why the hell didn’t he care about those lessons? Every nerve in his body electrified at her touch, desire shot through his veins; his heart raced. Mind occupied, he left Miranda’s quarters, confused to his emotions and the smoldering fire in his gut. He felt attraction and desire with Ashley those years ago. It paled to the sensations caused by Miranda Lawson.


	3. Chapter 3

Shepard adjusted the combat visor on his head as he looked at himself in the mirror of the Captain’s quarters. He ensured its alignment, glancing around the room to test the rangefinder through which he gazed then positioned the mouthpiece close to his jaw and pressed it against the muscles. “Test. Test”

“Loud and clear, Shepard.” Garrus’s voice echoed through Shepard’s earpiece.

He tweaked the position of the earpiece. “Say that again, Garrus.”

“Loud and clear,” the Turian repeated.

Shepard nodded and fastened the clasps of his armor, securing it firmly to his body before checking his ammo clips. Attaching his heavy pistol to his hip, he looped the strap for a shotgun over his shoulder, crossing his chest. With a sigh, he turned from the mirror and picked up the grenade launcher and hooked it onto the clasps on his back. He grabbed the sniper rifle and aimed down the scope at the ceiling. Comfortable with its weight, he attached it beside the grenade launcher.

His eyes drifted from the empty bed to the picture frame at the corner of his room. The frame remained where he had thrown it those weeks ago. He hesitated a moment before his jaw set and he turned from the bed, stalking up the stairs to the elevator. Just before leaving, he grabbed the assault rifle from the holder on the wall and then descended to the bridge.

As he walked across the bridge, Miranda and Garrus stood by the airlock. The Cerberus operative tilted her head as she inserted a communication earpiece into her ear then twisted it slightly to ensure it set.

“Can you hear me, Miranda?” Shepard said.

“Loud and clear, Commander,” she responded professionally and turned to him, expression stoic and all business.

He resisted the clenching punch of lust that slammed into him the moment she turned and he saw her in the white tight cat suit. Though used to her outfit – she wore it most of the mission – it still caught his breath as nothing was left to his imagination of what she possessed beneath. “Good,” he grunted as he passed her then slapped Garrus’s shoulder in friendly greeting. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll be,” Garrus stated flatly.

“We’re going after Samara first.” Shepard eyed Garrus. “You going to fix your armor? I’m sure we can get you a new suit.”

Garrus shrugged, following the Commander into the airlock in preparation for exit. “I’m a bit attached to this one. It’s been with me a long time and a little crack isn’t going to change that.”

Shepard nodded. “I guess it’s just a reminder that without me, you’d be dead.”

“Oh you mean after I saved your ass from thirty mercenaries before a gunship finally brought me down? Is that what you mean?”

Shepard laughed, shaking his head. Garrus smirked and Miranda rolled her eyes though the hint of an amused smile tugged her lips. She glanced beside her to the Turian. “You’re welcome.” She stated flatly, insinuating she had saved his life.

Garrus laughed.

+++

As he walked through Nos Astra, Shepard purchased a few more upgrades for the crew before continuing to the Administration offices. He wondered how Liara would react to him, gone for so long and suddenly back but with Cerberus. When did he start considering himself Cerberus?

He introduced himself to Liara’s assistant who eagerly showed him into the Asari’s office. At the sight of her, he paused and a smile tugged at his lips. The smile waivered when he heard her threats, her anger. The Liara he knew from two years ago had changed.

She greeted him warmly and he hugged her tightly in return. Liara dodged many of his personal questions, including his request for her to join his cause. He sensed her stress, uncertainty and anger. After she told him the location of the assassin and Samara, he offered to assist her in gaining the information she desired by hacking the systems.

He withheld the information he possessed regarding the Shadow Broker, even though he knew Liara sought it. He needed her focused and if he handed her the information, there was no guarantee she would be available to him.

With a friendly smile, he left Liara’s company in search of information regarding Samara, the Asari Justicar. As the squad walked down the stairs and towards the transport bay, Garrus finally spoke. “She’s changed. Different from what I remember.”

“Well as everyone has been telling me, you included,” Shepard glanced up to his friend. “Two years is a long time. And things change, apparently.”

Garrus eyed the Cerberus operative behind him. “Yeah. Apparently they do.”

Miranda arched a brow at Garrus at the statement but otherwise made no comment.

“It was meant as a compliment,” Garrus offered. “From how things have been lately, I’m thinking we should have joined Cerberus a long time ago. You may not have died, Shepard.”

“I don’t know about that,” Shepard searched the area for Officer Dara, the contact name given by Liara. “The Reapers want me dead. They targeted our ship. If not for that Normandy, they would have found me on a Cerberus vessel.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Garrus agreed.

+++

At the spaceport, Shepard spoke with Detective Anaya, an Asari in charge of the investigation of a recent murder in the area. Convincing the detective to assist him in finding Samara concluded with too much ease for his comfort. He asked of the Justicars and offered his help in any way possible. Authorities of Illium feared the Justicar would enact her justice upon a human or other race bringing the wrath of the council upon the Asari. Though a Justicar’s justice was acceptable by Asari standards, the authorities knew that defending such actions against a non-Asari proved near impossible and politically volatile. The detective permitted Shepard and his team to pass into the crime scene of the murdered merchant in search of Samara.

Past the crime scene tape, they easily found Samara as she dominated in a fight against a handful of eclipse sisters. He watched as Samara questioned the sister and then mercilessly crushed her windpipe with a well placed foot and a precise twist.

He faced the powerful biotic Justicar with unwavering courage and declared himself a friend to her cause. She took him for his word but moments later the detective arrived. Shepard found himself lost amidst their discussion on some sense of honor and protocol. In order to maintain the peace and achieve his goal, he offered to find the information Samara sought; in return she would wait with the detective.

After intimidating a keypass from the volus merchant outside the police station, Shepard and his squad entered the elevator leading to the eclipse hideout. Moving as one machine, the three squad members infiltrated the base easily destroying both mechs and eclipse sisters without trouble. He listened carefully to EDI’s instructions regarding the poisonous canisters. Meeting eyes with Garrus then Miranda, he ensured they understood. “Break as few of the containers as possible. The benefits aren’t worth the risk.” He looked to Miranda. “Understood?”

“Yes, Commander.” She replied without hesitation. Garrus nodded his agreement as the team moved forward.

In a small room beside the corridor, Shepard encountered a cowering Asari. She begged his mercy, claiming to know little, even nothing. He questioned her as to the ship Samara sought and learned of its rare cargo, though he fully did not understand its meaning. As the Asari spoke, Miranda’s voice whispered softly through the communications device when the Cerberus officer turned to look outside, checking the corridor. “Shepard, she’s still an Eclipse sister. She had to murder to get where she is. She’s as likely to run away as she is to shoot us in the back.” She peered outside the door and up the stairwell.

Garrus grunted and nodded his agreement. Though knowing his squad mates correct, Shepard lowered his weapon, commanding the Asari to run. The Asari, Elnora, ran without hesitation out of the room and to the elevator. Shepard refused to meet the eyes of his questioning crew. “I couldn’t just execute her.” He stated firmly then grabbed the ammo from the desk and reloaded his assault rifle before stepping out the door and turning up the stairs.

Miranda glanced at Garrus and the two paused a few seconds in understanding before following Shepard up the stairs. Battling through the waves of eclipse sisters and mechs, the team slowly pressed deeper into the eclipse hide out.

Shepard dove behind a crate for cover in the hangar bay, slamming his fist into the assault rifle to force out the jammed clip. He muttered a few choice curses. Garrus fired his rifle into the enemy and Miranda took the opportunity to slip forward, closer and hid behind a few barrels. Her weapons, the pistol and submachine gun executed accuracy and piercing shots at close range. Shepard reloaded his weapon and waited for a lull in the crossfire before lifting up on his knees, bracing his arm on the crate and aimed down the barrel of his rifle.

Firing quick bursts, he shot through the shields of two enemies while Miranda finished them off with precisely placed pistol shots. The sound of an engine ignition blasted through the hangar. Miranda squinted and ducked down as Shepard quickly searched the area. “Gun ship!” he warned and watched for his teammates before taking full cover himself.

The engine sound faded away; Miranda emerged first, resuming her gunfire. The eclipse sister capitalized on the distraction of the gunship and retreated further into the compound. Shepard’s team easily defeated the stragglers before exploring the hangar for any useful items and information.

Pursuing the mercenaries, Shepard’s team pushed through the next area. Pausing as he crossed a small bridge between platforms, he listened carefully to the muffled whipping of air. Alarmed, he turned back and commanded, “Take Cover!”

Miranda and Garrus ducked behind the columns of the bridge while Shepard raced across the rest of the length just as the gunship elevated before him.

“Shepard!” Garrus called and came out of cover to fire upon the ship. The ship sprayed its bullets over the bridge and Shepard’s path, clipping his shields until they drained. He slid into cover otherwise unscathed. Garrus quickly stepped behind the pillar again to slam the clip from his gun and reload.

Miranda peered around her pillar, eyes scanning the area before she stepped out completely and with a graceful extension of her hand and furrowed brow, she summoned her power and shot an overloading bolt towards the gunship from her hand.

The blast hit the gunship, depleting its shields by a quarter. Shepard quickly changed the ammunition in his rifle to better attack the shield and fired on the ship. The ship fired relentlessly upon him. His shield depleted and a few of the bullets hit his chest, knocking him down and away from the stone cover at the buildings ledge.

He grunted at the strike and fell onto his back before reaching out with a hand and pulling himself back into cover. Glancing down, he eyed his armor then felt along the puncture holes with an armored finger. The armor blocked the bullets from penetrating his skin; he sighed in relief then reloaded his weapon.

The gunship retreated, pulling back and out of range. Curious, Shepard peeked over the top of his cover watching cautiously as the gunship hovered just out of rifle range. Miranda and Garrus raced across the bridge, both taking cover beside Shepard against the stone wall, one to either side.

“Are you alright?” Miranda asked coolly. After hesitantly watching the gunship, she turned her attention to Shepard’s chest and touched the holes, slipping a slender finger inside to feel; no blood or flesh in the bullet hole, only metal. “It didn’t go through.”

“Yeah,” Shepard nodded and eyed Miranda’s pistol, noting only six shots remained. He sat against the cover and pulled two clips from the holding clasps on his side then handed them to her. He peeked up over the banister again. “What the hell is it doing?”

She took the clips and slid one into the holding slip on her boot then loaded the other into her pistol. “It’s like its waiting for something.”

Garrus watched the gunship through the scope of his sniper rifle. “I think its guns overheated.” He fired a shot then cocked the bolt of the gun to send another bullet to the chamber. “Get ready. It’s coming back!”

Shepard nodded, checking his ammunition before swinging the gun up over the banister to aim at the ship. Firing its guns, the ship soared towards them, scattered shots hitting all three. Shepard ducked down again as the ship flew over their heads to the other side of the bridge. “Shit!” Exposed, he scrambled to the cover across the five foot platform and dove against the opposite barrier just in time. Miranda and Garrus reacted instantly, finding new cover as well.

Miranda waited for the ship to target her squad mates before emerging to cast another overpowering bolt at the ship.

The dance repeated for twenty minutes as Shepard and his team slowly depleted the shields then the armor of the gunship. Garrus fired the final shot, his sniper bullet piercing the last of the armor of the ship. Losing control, the gunship circled, guns overheated and exploded as the ship twisted and descended before exploding thirty feet below.

With finally a moment to rest, Shepard sighed and leaned back against the cover, sitting down with legs outstretched. Catching his breath, he checked his clips and his guns. Most of his ammo gone, he looked to Garrus. “How are you?”

Garrus inspected his magazines then pulled a clip off of the corpse at his side. “I’m alright. We just better find more soon.”

Shepard nodded then turned to Miranda. Despite the fight, her shields never fully dropped; she appeared as graceful and perfect as ever even though he and Garrus looked like they had been to hell and back. He eyed her legs, using the excuse he was looking at her ammo clips. “You alright?”

“Yes,” she responded simply and crouched beside him to check her ammunition. Even though she only had a single clip left for her pistol and empty for her submachine gun, she refrained from expressing it to Shepard.

“Liar,” Shepard stated with a grin and placed the pistol from his side and the four corresponding clips onto the ground at her feet. Reaching for her waist, his fingers flicked at the fasteners holding her pistol to her hip, his touch brushing against her as he removed her pistol and attached it to his hip. “Now you’re better.”

She picked up the pistol, tested its weight. Smirking, she loaded the pistol then snapped a clip to each of the holders on her boots and slipped the third into the small ammo pack at her waist. “Thank you.” She holstered the pistol.

Garrus rolled his eyes at the flirtations and planted the butt of his sniper rifle into the ground to help him stand. “When you two are ready? I’ll be over there.” He pointed to the door twenty feet away.

Shepard glanced down at his armor and the twelve new bullet holes caused by the gunship from staying out of cover too long. Blood seeped from only one, a punctured hole at the side of his chest the opposite side of where Miranda crouched.

With his black armor and brilliant red accents, the blood disappeared against the contrasting colors. He showed no sign of pain or discomfort and concluded the wound shallow as the blood merely dripped and dried quickly.

Miranda inspected his chest and legs, glancing at the bullet holes. She shook her head. “Why don’t you stay in cover longer? Eventually they have to reload. Fire then. You’re going to get yourself killed.” Unable to help herself, she reached out and touched the bullet graze along the side of his visor. “Another inch and …” she trailed off and huffed, standing. “Stupid ass.” Her tone instantly switched from gentle concern to teasing amusement.

He pushed to his feet. “Just gotta play the hero and all. Hey, we got the ship down didn’t we?”

“I suppose. But Cerberus doesn’t have the money to put into another Lazarus project so try not to get yourself killed before we even get to the Collectors.”

He grinned, following her. “Worried, Ms. Lawson?” He teased. “Am I still nothing more than an experiment after everything we’ve been through?”

She continued towards the door, turning slightly to address him though her stride never changed even walking backwards. “Concerned.” She could not resist a smile when his grin broadened. “And stop smiling.” She chided with a broadening grin of her own before turning away to quicken her pace towards Garrus. She took the pistol from its holster on her hip.

He chuckled and reloaded his last clip into his assault rifle then readied his gun before entering the next room. In the next room, he retrieved evidence of the smuggling of red sand into the compound. Storing it for the detective, they continued into the adjoining rooms. He mercilessly saved the drugged volus who staggered through the hallway claiming his biotic superiority. It tempted him to let the creature stumble into battle but he knew guilt would follow him should the volus die – which was likely.

Inside the next room, Shepard paused and his eyes narrowed at the pacing Asari twenty meters across the room. The Asari Captain Wasea grinned wickedly and with a cast of her hand threw two barrels of red stand towards Shepard. Shepard and his team scattered for cover.

Heavy firepower followed, bullets flying as the red sand canisters burst and the dusty contents exploded into the atmosphere. Shepard and Garrus circled to the right staying far away from the dangerous and deadly red sand. Immediately after the gunfire, two more canisters flew through the air and shattered upon hitting the ground at the center area between the various stacks of crates. Shepard lost sight of Miranda.

Shepard pressed tightly against the crates for cover and took the sniper rifle from his back. Garrus sniped from his position beside the Commander as Shepard fired a few shots as well, blasting the heads off of three roaming mechs.

The red sand dust floated into the air, thinning slightly before another barrel flew and more gunfire followed. After two minutes of unrelenting onslaught, the sand cleared slightly. Shepard searched, squinting to look through the airborne sand for Miranda.

Miranda lay unconscious and limp at the center of the floor surrounded by exploded containers. The crate she used for cover shattered at her feet. Blood pooled on the floor from a wound at her shoulder and stained the white cat suit high on her thigh near the groin. Panic seized him, heart clenching at the sight of her.

He repositioned himself, crouched low and ready to spring. He swallowed the urge to race into the crossfire. Eyes unwavering from Miranda’s prone form, he attached his sniper rifle to his back. “Garrus!”

Garrus fired a shot then looked to his left towards Shepard before gazing passed the commander to the Cerberus operative on the floor. “Shepard.” Garrus warned then ducked as a bullet whizzed by his ear.

Bursting out of the cover, Shepard charged out nto the open. Garrus cursed and swung his assault rifle up to lay down a stream of suppressive fire. Shepard focused on the fallen woman, ignoring the choking sand that flooded his lungs and the piercing bullets that depleted his shields. The sand surrounded Miranda, suffocating.

He reached for her, wrapping his right arm around her waist and lifted her into his arms without breaking his stride. Staying low, he ran the rest of the distance to the far crates and out of the red sand. Garrus ducked back into cover, his shields recharging.

Shepard panted as he set Miranda gently against the crate in a sitting position. Her head lulled to the side in unconsciousness. The wounds in her shoulder and upper thigh bled and oozed through the cat suit. He leaned close and sighed in relief at the sound of her shallow breathing. Pulling his assault rifle up, he aimed over the crate and with short bursts of fire, shot two mechs and an Asari.

When the mechs returned fire, he ducked down again and pulled the knife from his boot. He quickly tore off his armored gloves and dropped them at his side then pulled at Miranda’s catsuit, slicing away the material from the wounds. “Miranda,” He called into his microphone then tucked her hair behind her ear; her earpiece in place, he repeated her name.

He growled at her lack of response and tore the shoulder off of her suit then ripped open the fabric at her thigh. No lustful thoughts rose to his mind as he exposed her porcelain flesh. Bringing the knife to his mouth, he clenched the flat of the blade between his teeth as he aimed and fired, taking out any mechs or enemies that neared his position.

Hiding behind the cover again, he removed the knife from his mouth then reached into the small side satchel of his armor and took out a tube of the medi-gel. “Miranda.” He whispered to her, eyes worried. His hand trembled as he tried to tear the medi-gel packet. In his worry, he carelessly lifted his head too high and two shots hit his head, completely lowering his shields. He ducked quickly but not fast enough as the third shot grazed the back of his neck deeply, drawing blood.

He ignored the searing pain and tore open the medi-gel packet with his teeth. Focusing on her wounds, he squeezed half of the pack gel into the wound on her shoulder and with his free hand, massaged the gel into the flesh and around the edges. Immediately the wound began to heal. He squeezed the rest of the gel into the wound on her thigh and repeated the process of massaging the gel into the wound and around its edges.

Blood oozed and dripped from the three inch gash along the back of his neck, leaking from the wound and into his armor. Sticky and warm, it tickled; he shivered, but otherwise ignored the sensations. He tossed the empty medi-gel packet aside and again fired the last of his assault rifle ammunition.

He ducked low and cupped Miranda’s jaw in his hand, manipulating her head. “Miranda? Come on, woman. Wake up.” Worried about her, he carelessly ignored his intuition as three mechs approached from behind around the crate. On one knee beside her, he braced his other foot for balance on the other side of her leg, effectively straddling her as he pushed more of the medi-gel from outside the wound to the still open areas.

Gunfire burst from the mechs that rounded the crates. Without hesitation, Shepard planted his knee close to her hip and leg and twisted to give his back to the enemy, taking the fire willingly and effectively shielding her with his own body.

He gasped, wincing as he fumbled with the shotgun on his back. His shields dropped and four bullets pierced his armor through the back, two puncturing through to the skin as another shot blasted through the center of his unarmored hand. Aiming across his body, he pulled the trigger on the shotgun, blasting the three mechs into dozens of scrapped pieces.

Garrus’s voice scratched through Shepard’s earpiece. “Shepard, what the fuck are you doing? You gave her the medi-gel, now shoot the fucking mercs.”

Shepard nodded. “Yeah … yeah, I know.” He staggered in his balance, teeth clenched from the pain of his wounds. They ached, bled and burned. Head hanging low, he breathed deeply to control himself. Blood dripped around his neck and onto Miranda’s limp hand. He forced his eyes open and rested his sniper rifle on the crate, focusing intensely through the scope to shoot at the Asari Captain.

Miranda stirred, hand clenching at the warm liquid and her eyes fluttered open. She winced when the sniper rifle fired beside her and moaned softly. She rolled her shoulder and glanced at the wound then down to her thigh and slid her fingers along the healing flesh.

Shepard hid in cover again as he cocked the bolt on his rifle to load another bullet into the chamber. His eyes widened when they met her gaze. “Miranda,” he sighed in absolute relief. His right hand wounded; the mech shot scorched his skin, the hole black and pierced through completely. It blistered and puckered. “Stay still,” he whispered and reached past her for the pistol she dropped and laid it in her lap. “Just watch my back.” He aimed through the scope again.

She clenched the hilt of the pistol and nodded. Her eyes on him, she scanned his body. Blood dripped from him, starting to pool at the floor by his knee. She reached for the medi-gel pack on the side of his waist and pulled it out. Using the knife he left at her side, she cut it open and squeezed some onto her finger.

She waited until he took cover to reload and reached out, rubbing the gel along the back of his neck then on the horrific wound on his hand. He smiled gratefully at that, his lips tweaking almost boyishly charming to one side. She matched his smile, almost nervously. She looked down at his knees and whispered. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, softly. Withholding his wince, he aimed again down the sniper rifle and shot. He cocked the gun, reloaded the last bullet into the chamber. He swallowed hard, stilled his breath then fired. The Asari captain finally dropped.

In relief, he collapsed and sat, leaning against the crate with his eyes closed. Miranda’s wounds healed slowly and she turned to touch his chest. “Shepard?” worry evident in her voice as she gently shook him. “Shepard, how many pierced your body?”

“Not many,” he responded with a stronger voice. “Really. Let’s just get the information we need and get out of here.”

Garrus approached the two and looked down at Shepard. Silently, he reached down and grabbed the Commander’s arm. With little delicacy, he jerked the man to his feet. Shepard clenched his teeth to bite back the pain from the jostled movements. He held Garrus’s hostile stare, unwavering. The turian turned away and stalked to the table at the center where the Captain threw her tablet before the fight.

Miranda pushed to her feet, weary not wounded as the medi-gel healed her injuries; she doubled over and coughed. Shepard reached for her unwounded arm and assisted her, using his body to steady her as she waivered on her feet. “Thank you.” She whispered but frowned as her fingers traced the bullet holes scattered on his chest piece. “What happened?” She looked to the pool of blood at the center of the floor amidst the red sand.

“You were wounded in the red sand. I wasn’t going to leave you there.” He responded deeply.

Her expression unreadable, she simply nodded. When she removed her hand from his chest, her frown deepened as she rubbed her thumb against her fingers then looked at her hand. Sticky and splattered in Shepard’s blood, she quickly lifted her gaze to his eyes, concerned. “Shepard …”

“I’m fine.” He interrupted her. “Let’s just get the information we’re here for and give it to Samara. I can make it that far and to the Normandy.” He offered a playful smirk. “Takes more than a few bullets to stop me.”

“Not funny,” Miranda stated with a shake of the head. “You could be hurt beneath the armor and have no idea what was pierced.”

Garrus tossed the tablet to Shepard. “Then perhaps we should stop standing around here and get back to work, hmm?”

Miranda and Shepard agreed.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Eyes closed, Miranda’s head lulled from one side to the other as consciousness slowly returned. Cool metal at her back, she lay outstretched. No pain lingered from any injuries other than the dull throb at her temples. Bright overhead lights disrupted her peaceful slumber and magnified her headache, even with her eyes closed. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she forced them open, squinting at the assaulting lights.

Glancing around, her vision settled as she realized her position on a table in the medical bay. With a soft groan, she forced herself into a sitting position, hunched slightly. Her white cat suit lay in tatters on the counter across the bay. Eyeing her attire, she tugged at the standard Cerberus casual uniform she wore.

“Your usual outfit is ruined.” A feminine voice stated from the side.

Miranda turned her head quickly and nodded at the doctor. She moaned and rubbed her head, eyes closing momentarily at the quick movement. “Yes, I remember a little. What happened? I don’t remember getting here.”

The doctor approached Miranda with various instruments and tools, scanning the younger woman’s body for any remaining injuries. “You were injured severely on Illium. The Commander revived you but you had inhaled too much of the red sand and collapsed soon after leaving the police station. He carried you back here.”

“Carried me?” Miranda furrowed her brow and frowned. “But he was injured. Is he injured?” She asked quickly and tilted her head up at the doctor’s bidding. When the doctor slowly waved a finger before Miranda’s gaze, the Cerberus officer followed the movement with her eyes. “He was shot. There was blood.”

“Yes, he was shot. Multiple times.” The doctor responded. “You seem to be alright. No concussion, no more lingering effects. It took six hours to flush your lungs but you should feel fine. Perhaps a cough while any residual particles are expelled.”

“Where’s Shepard?”

Doctor Chakwas motioned to the bed behind Miranda with a motion of the head. “Fifteen bullet wounds. I don’t know how he survived, much less managed to carry you back through the Normandy and get in here. He refused treatment until I had you on the table and the scans running. I’d never seen him like that before.”

Miranda twisted at the waist to look behind her at the other metallic table. Shepard lay on his back, naked with a towel draped over his hips. Sensors and metallic bars swept over his body with a rhythmic hum slowly healing the puncture wounds from the inside outward. She pushed to her feet, steadied herself then walked to Shepard’s side, looking down at the wounds on his chest. “Fifteen?”

“Fifteen,” Doctor Chakwas reaffirmed. “I have no idea what you did to him to bring him back to life but whatever you did, he’s invincible. That or his will power is so strong, he refused to drop until everything finished.”

Miranda nodded slowly as she watched the sleeping Shepard. “Let me know when he awakens.”

“Of course, Lawson.” The doctor agreed. “He will likely need another twenty four hours for the wounds to fully heal. You are free to go just don’t overexert yourself. If you feel strange or find it hard to breathe, even the slightest, come back. We can rerun the scanners.”

“Thank you,” Miranda turned from Shepard and gathered her white uniform. She inspected the holes, torn and cut then rubbed her finger over the dried blood – hers or Shepard’s she was unsure. Fisting the ruined outfit, she nodded in thanks to the doctor and left the medical bay.

+++

Shepard’s eyes fluttered as he awoke from the longest sleep of his life. Moaning, he stirred, shifting his weight on the metallic table in the medical bay.

“Easy, Commander. Take your time.”

He recognized the voice. Doctor Chakwas. Shivering, he exhaled a heavy sigh and forced his eyes open. Moments passed as his vision adjusted to the lights. Scratching his bare chest, he lifted his head to look down at his body. He wore only a pair of form fitting boxer shorts. The bullet wounds on his chest healed completely, the skin bearing no signs of the trauma.

“It’s good to see you awake, Commander.” The doctor said with a warm smile. “You’ve been in here for about thirty six hours.”

Shepard groaned, rubbing his eyes with a hand and tugged forcefully pulled his fingers along his cheeks to wake himself. “Thirty six hours? Where?” He turned his head to the side and stared at the empty medical bed.

“She’s fine, Commander,” Chakwas eased his curiosity. “She recovered hours ago. No residual injuries.”

“Good. What about me?” He ducked his chin into his chest.

“Indestructible, so it seems. Your injuries would have killed another man during the battle. Yet here you are after walking back to the ship and carrying the weight of a crewmember. I also took the opportunity to run the tests you asked about.” Chakwas turned from Shepard to grab a tablet off of the counter and presented the information to the Commander. “I ran the scans twice. There is no sign of any computerized chip in your head. The disturbances you see …” she pointed at the corresponding parts of the scan results behind the eye and at the center of the skull. “… appear to be from your healing through the Lazarus Project. That information isn’t available to me so I cannot be entirely sure.”

“What are they? Those parts?”

The doctor traced a line along Shepard’s head beginning at the scar on his forehead. “Here, is the incision where a metal plate was inserted into your skull. Judging from its placement, the bone was shattered and the metal is to replace that part of your skull. It healed perfectly and fused with your bone, as was to be expected. The scar remains due to additional scar tissue from the stitching to seal your head at the surface level. Chances are it was sewn before the skin fully healed. Then when the stitches were removed, it puckered as the skin stretched and reformed around your new skull. I’m fascinated by the whole process, but Cerberus is not very revealing about their pet projects.”

Shepard nodded then pointed to the shadowed area behind the eye socket on the tablet. “And this?”

“Ah. Yes, I wasn’t sure at first.” The doctor stated, professionally and used another tablet to expand the view of the area. “It seems that is actually an implant. The retina of your left eye was completely severed and frozen due to the extremes in temperatures and the exposure to space after you were jettisoned out of the Normandy. So this shadow on here is the implant acting as your retina, allowing your vision.”

Frowning, Shepard looked up at the doctor. “Miranda said they brought me back perfectly. Then again, I did … I remember when I was leaving the facility I saw a few of the data logs. It said when I was recovered I was in a horrible state. Miranda didn’t even think the Lazarus Project would work because I was so … degenerated.”

The doctor nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your eyes weren’t even yours. Being exposed to that kind of pressure… “ She slowly shook her head. “Your bone structure is the same. I recognized you the moment I saw you but it has been two years Commander and, forgive me, but I did not memorize the exact hue of your eyes.”

Shepard chuckled and looked down at the tablet again. “So no … devices? Nothing to alter consciousness or my decision making?”

“Nothing, Commander. Nothing that any of my scans have found.”

“But …”

“It seems what you have been told is correct. They wanted you brought back exactly as you were. Well almost. You do have implants and a lot of stabilizing in your skeletal structure.” The doctor stepped away to grab a small mirror and brought the glass to Shepard. “I also took advantage of you being here and went ahead with the cosmetic surgery you were interested in.”

“Really?” Shepard held the mirror up and looked at the reflection. He turned his head one way then the next, reaching up with his free hand to touch his cheek and jaw. No more scars. He smiled. “Thanks, Doctor. It looks fantastic.”

“Oh, it wasn’t much. The scars were quite faint anyway.”

“If they were normal scars I wouldn’t have minded. But they damn well nearly glowed. I don’t need any more reminders that I’m not the same man and instead was reconstructed from the dead.”

“I think your right,” Garrus said casually from the door, leaning against the console with arms crossed. “You sure as hell aren’t the same man you were then.”

Shepard glanced up and smirked at the turian. “Glad to see you’re happy I’m alive.”

“I’m surprised you are after that stunt you pulled back in the eclipse base.”

“What stunt?” Shepard staggered up onto his feet, wincing as his sore muscles adjusted to his weight. Though the wounds healed, the muscles remained sore – a necessary side effect to quick rejuvenation.

“You know damn well what stunt I’m talking about.” Garrus pushed off the wall to stalk closer to Shepard. “Diving out of cover in the middle of a firefight and nearly get yourself killed while …”

“That wasn’t a stunt,” Shepard defended intensely, eyes narrowed at Garrus. “I will never let a member of my team fall. Not like that. I got her out of the red sand and out of the bullet fire. That was all.”

“Bullshit, that wasn’t all.” Garrus responded coolly. “You charged out of cover with barely a hesitation leaving a majority of that fight to me because you were too busy screwing around with Lawson. You never did anything like that before. The mission was first. Survival. You did what had to be done even if it meant something was sacrificed.”

“Sacrificed to a point, Garrus. How many times did I pull you out of the fire and heal you in the middle of battle.”

“Really? Did you do that when the gunship took me down in Omega? I don’t recall you doing that. Giving up the fight to heal me. No, this is not the same thing.”

“So what, would you have preferred I leave her to suffocate in the sand? Is that what you wanted?”

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth,” Garrus snapped. “To pull her out of the firefight and administer the medi-gel is one thing. To carelessly lose sight of all your enemies and leave your other teammate to fend for themselves is putting my life at risk. I said I’d follow you into hell, Shepard, but not if you’re going to be so obsessed and distracted by Lawson that I’m gonna die before we even get to a Collector base.”

“Nobody, and I mean nobody is going to die if I have anything to say about this.” Shepard spat. “Everyone is labeling this a suicide mission, and yeah, maybe it is. But I will not leave a member of my team behind. So I took a few bullet wounds. You took a gunship blast to the face!”

“Not because I was too busy cooing over a woman!”

+++

In her office across the mess hall and not far from the medical bay, Miranda worked diligently at her station, entering the reports into the system to be sent to the Illusive Man. She checked the system for any status reports about the mission and read the information Garrus entered regarding the mission in the eclipse sister’s hideout. She reread the report numerous times in a vain attempt to understand Shepard’s actions.

Picking up the tablet with the report, she stood and paced into her bedroom, eyes on the wording on the tablet before she tossed it on the bed with a sigh. Turning back to her desk, she paused to look at herself in the mirror, searching as if something were lost.

She had discarded the white suit she had grown fond of and instead wore a dark blue skin tight suit, its accents yellow and red. She ran her fingers along the firm plastic-like material. Though she preferred the white suit for comfort, the blue suit offered more armor, more protection and stylistically more flattering. Not that style mattered. Utility over comfort.

Loud booming voices echoed through the crew’s chambers and the muffled voices reached her office through the closed doors. She frowned and looked up, listening carefully. “So what, would you have preferred I leave her to suffocate in the sand? Is that what you wanted?”

Shepard.

Miranda purposefully strode from her office. Outside the door she glanced around the mess area then passed the quietly gathered crew to the windows of the medical bay. Garrus argued with Shepard, voices raised and audible to anyone in the mess hall. Miranda turned cool eyes to the crew. “Back to your stations. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A few members of the crew responded though all quickly scattered to return to their duty, at least to leave the area. Her heeled boots clicked rhythmically as she crossed the hall to the medical bay.

Shepard turned his back on his friend, hands pressed into the table as he leaned heavily for support. “I was not cooing, Garrus. I was helping her. And I was killing mechs and mercs as well. So don’t even start but saying anything about that.”

“Killing what? You took more bullets than you ever have before … combined. I don’t even know how you’re alive. Probably some regenerative cybernetic implant or something. Who knows what Cerberus put inside you!”

“Garrus …” Shepard warned through clenched teeth and fiery vicious eyes.

“No Shepard, you listen to me.” Garrus closed the distance between them. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re my friend. And I’m here because you want me here. And yeah, I’ll follow you into hell. But not if you’re going to act like you did. You didn’t do this for Alenko. You didn’t even do this for Williams when she …”

“This isn’t about Ashley or Kaiden or even you or anyone else on this God damn ship. Ok?” Shepard snarled.

“Yeah, I know.” Garrus said simply. “That’s the point. You wouldn’t have done that for anyone on this ship. Except Lawson. She’s a liability to this mission not because of anything she does. But because of how you react to her.”

“Shepard,” Miranda called from the door, her tone firm and demeanor cool. “Garrus is right.”

Garrus turned quickly at that and looked at Miranda. Shepard lifted his head to glance in the direction. His expression initially relieved at the sight of her and then confused as her words settled in his mind. “Right? I … I will never leave a man behind again. Never! Look do we have to fucking do this now!” He snarled and rested his head in a hand. “I just god damn woke up and don’t need this now.”

“I would have to agree,” Doctor Chakwas finally intervened. “Out of here, both of you.” She directed Garrus and Miranda towards the door. “He just woke up not fifteen minutes ago and already he’s being bombarded. Out. Out. Commander, after I ensure you’re safe to return to duty, I expect you to return to your quarters and rest for a few hours while your body readjusts. Perhaps take a hot shower or read some dossiers.”

Garrus nodded quietly and walked to the door, pausing to look down on Miranda. “Lawson. No offense.”

“None taken,” Miranda responded smoothly.

He inclined his head in acceptance and walked out of the medical bay. Miranda lingered a moment before turning and left as well.

+++

Miranda finished her evaluation of the Normandy systems from her desk, entered the log information then turned off that display screen. She tapped her fingers rhythmically on the desk, mind distracted and reflective over the events of the last forty eight hours. Two hours passed since she left the medical bay after interrupting the argument between Shepard and Garrus.

Tapping a few keys on her access terminal, she activated the camera in Shepard’s quarters and watched intensely. The cabin appeared rearranged. His armor, usually scattered in the corner, was nowhere in sight. The bed rumpled and unmade, pillows scrunched at the head of the bed. Nothing sat on the desk, everything cleared away except for his personal terminal, a small display of medals and his model ships. Missing was the picture of Ashley Williams that had spent weeks in the corner, discarded but not forgotten.

Miranda flicked the switch to activate the microphone; muffled sounds of running water echoed through the empty cabin. Moments later, the water quieted and Shepard emerged from the bathing room. A white towel wrapped around his waist, water dripped from his muscular form and his short hair. He scratched the water from his hair then removed the towel to dry the remaining moisture from his body, his back to the camera.

Unashamed, Miranda watched him though her eyes focused more on his back and chest than anything below the waist. Concerned for his health, she examined for any residual scarring or damage from his heroic, albeit stupid, actions in the Eclipse base. No surprises remained physically of the commander; she knew every inch of his naked body. After all, she reconstructed it cell by cell.

Not that he wasn’t a pleasant specimen to admire.

A small circular communication device on the bed stand flickered to life as an orange outlined hologram materialized. “Shepard,” the Illusive man stated sternly then hissed in exhale as smoke billowed from his lips.

Shepard, still nude, glanced towards the image and huffed. “Was wondering what that thing was for.”

“I have been waiting for you for ten hours. I don’t … wait.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been a bit busy.” Shepard stated flatly. “And I don’t answer to you. This is my mission remember.”

“No, I make you think this is your mission.” The Illusive man exhaled again. “You have the choice how you go about completing the mission. But in the end? You have no say about the large scheme of things.”

Shepard sighed, pulling on his formfitting boxers. “Is there a point to this visit or do you just get off to seeing me naked?”

“There is a very important purpose to this call.” The Illusive man responded with warning. “I read the reports about what happened on Illium. I see you recruited the Justicar but at a cost.”

“No cost. I did what I had to do.”

“That, is where we disagree. We do have different methods, as you have pointed out before. But this method is entirely unacceptable.”

Shepard pulled on his pants, fastening the belt. “And what exactly is unacceptable?”

The Illusive man snuffed out his cigarette. “You need to understand, Shepard, that you are the most important piece of this mission. Your crew, your team … they are fodder. Worthless. Expendable. Their sole purpose is to distract collector firepower so when the time comes to fight the collectors, you will be able to accomplish your task and stop them. That is all.”

Shepard stared at the image and slowly shook his head, shocked. “You’re supposed to represent an organization that is devoted to human life. And here you are telling me that life is worthless.”

“Cerberus is devoted to humanity as a whole. At the expense of the few, the many will prosper. We are willing to sacrifice what must be sacrificed in order for humanity to persevere. It’s a heroic sacrifice, one that all on board understands.”

Shepard stalked away from the image to fetch a clean shirt from the drawers on the wall.

“Your crew mates can be replaced. People can be recruited and paid. Under no circumstance are you to risk your life to save one of them. They are all expendable.”

“They’re not expendable to me!” He exclaimed and turned fiery eyes on the image, fisting the shirt in his hand. “You got the report about what I did to save Miranda. Is that what this is about? She’s supposed to be your right hand go to in all situations. Hell, I know with the snap of her fingers she can override any of my orders on this god damn ship. Did you think I was that stupid not to realize exactly what my situation was?”

“Not at all. I never thought you stupid. And yes, we’re talking about what you did for Miranda. She is a valuable member of my team and should she fall, she would be missed. But in the end, she is replaceable. You, Shepard, are not.”

Shepard pointed at the image, voice intense. “She is not expendable to me. No one on this ship is expendable. And it is my responsibility as their commander to ensure their safety even at the expense of my own life. You wanted me brought back exactly as I was and I am that man. My crew comes first. Always.”

“You’re wrong, Shepard. That is not the man you were. I recall a man sacrificing a friend for his own survival. You chose to leave Kaidan Alenko behind and not stay yourself. I recall battles where you were the last standing and brought down your opponents before tending to the wounded. Careless and blind emotions were not in your personality. The Lazarus project has obviously failed. You are a different person brought back.” The Illusive man sighed. “Perhaps you have become too attached to your crew. At your next docking, I will have new officers and crewmates waiting. Your current crew is dismissed. Miranda and Jacob included.”

“Go fuck yourself. I won’t fly with anyone else. My crew stays or I walk.” Shepard held his head high, calling the Illusive man’s bluff. “That includes anyone I’ve recruited, Jacob and Miranda.”

The Illusive man calmly lit another cigarette, inhaling then slowly exhaling. “Your emotions are unacceptable. They will blind you to what you must do to complete the mission. And this mission cannot fail.”

“I don’t have to explain anything else to you. If you touch any member of my crew, I’m coming for you personally. I will find you. And I will kill you, Collectors be damned.”

“You would really throw away the future of humanity for revenge against me?”

“Without hesitation,” Shepard responded simply. “I don’t trust you and I don’t trust Cerberus.”

“I see,” the illusive man puffed on his cigarette slowly before responding through clenched teeth as he held the smoke in his lungs. “So you don’t trust me yet you trust your crew? Jacob? Miranda? They are all Cerberus.”

“Cerberus is full of two kinds of people. No wait, three. The first are the xenophobes who are petrified of anything that isn’t human. Then there are the people like you who know exactly what is going on and continue with their sick games under the guise of benefiting the greater good. And thirdly are the idealists who believe in the lies you tell them because let’s face it, who can argue with preserving humanity in a hostile galaxy. Hell, even I can’t. But there’s more to Cerberus than that utopian goal. A dark and twisted core. And I don’t trust it.”

“Hmm,” The Illusive man calmly responded as he crossed his legs. Smoke swirled upwards from the lit cigarette as he carefully chose his words. “Do you really think I don’t still have control over every inch of that ship? With a snap of my fingers,” for impact, he snapped then paused. “I could have them all jump.”

Shepard grinned. “You really think they’ll all just jump at your command? I know you have this entire god damn ship bugged with cameras and microphones. I know about that one right there.” Shepard pointed towards the camera. “So just you try to get the crew to declare a mutiny. Then we’ll see how far you get with the collectors. I think you underestimate the loyalty I can inspire in people.”

Threatened, the Illusive man leaned forward as he barked. “Don’t forget your place, Shepard. Remember who is responsible for you even being alive.”

“Oh I won’t forget that. Miranda Lawson.”

“No,” the illusive man pointed to himself. “It’s me. I brought you back. I put you in the position you’re in. I’m giving you unlimited funds to get what you need and find you the people you need for this mission.”

“Your money is the least important part of this equation.” Shepard grinned. “Miranda is the reason I’m here. She had your money, yeah. But it was her brains, her vision, determination, patience and leadership that made the project work. You can’t just buy that; it’s a gift and a skill. Money doesn’t buy passion and willpower.” Shepard tilted his head in thought. “Is that why you didn’t want me to save her? I’d think she would be highly valuable to you with her biotics, her perfect genetics and her brains. So what … is it?”

The illusive man exhaled slowly from his cigarette in calm and unshaken demeanor.

Shepard paced before the hologram. “I think I understand. You’re the money man, aren’t you? You make the connections and get the funds and even compile the information. But Lawson? What a valuable tool.” He taunted then stopped and crossed his arms. “Do your backers ask about her? Would they rather have her in charge of Cerberus than you? She’s obviously capable of running an entire project, even a cell without any help. She can rally loyalty and fight as hard as any soldier I’ve ever seen. Do they prefer what she has to offer over you? What is it you can do, exactly?”

“Lawson serves me! And just as I’ve built her up, I could kill her with but a word.” Illusive man snapped, uncrossing his legs to lean forward, chest puffed up in his anger. “Don’t you forget that, Shepard.”

“That so,” Shepard walked to the bed stand and rested his hands on the edge to look directly at the hologram. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

“That is the emotion I am talking about Shepard. You will be too busy worrying about me while the collectors are capturing more human colonists. Your passion will get you killed and will be the cause of the mission failure. I have the loyalty of your entire crew, never doubt that. Including Ms. Lawson.”

Shepard scowled. “Who do you think she would follow? Hmm? A man who would throw her to the mercs to save his own career, sacrifice her without a blink to the collectors? Or a man that would risk his life to save hers in any circumstance? And not just once. I’d do it again and again,” he tapped his finger on the bed stand to punctuate. “Without hesitation.” He tilted his head, taunting. “So you tell me, where you think she would stand? Behind you? Or beside me?”

“She would kill you in an instant if I ordered it,” Illusive man sneered. “She’s ruthless, driven and cold. Don’t kid yourself, Shepard. It’s how she was designed.”

“Maybe, but that’s not who she is.” Shepard responded and pushed off the bed stand. “So do it. Order the destruction of your four billion credit project.” He motioned to his body with a hand.

“This is your mission, and I will give you free rein for most of the operation. But if you do not stay in line, Shepard, and obey my wishes when I give them, you will see your project eliminated. And that is not just you. But your crew as well.”

The hologram disappeared before Shepard responded. With a heavy sigh, he sank onto the bed and rested his head in his hands, elbows on his knees for support. He growled in frustration and burst to his feet, turning on the bed stand, he crouched and braced it in his hands. His entire body clenched as he tried to lift it from its bolted place on the floor.

Unmoving, the bedstand remained firmly in place. Panting, Shepard stood and crossed away from the bed towards his desk then returned with a simple screwdriver. In his rage, he stabbed the screwdriver through the hologram transmitter. The device sparked and sizzled before finally shorting out, scorching the table black in a circular pattern around the device’s affixed position.

Miranda sat back in her chair, blinking to alleviate the dry burning of her eyes from staring intently at the screen. When Shepard lay on the bed and tossed an arm over his eyes, she flicked off the camera feed. Staring blankly at the door from her office for nearly a minute, she finally leaned forward. Swallowing the lump in her throat she typed at her console and brought up the high level security access for the Cerberus camera system. With three taps and a swipe, she overloaded the wiring to the camera and microphone in Shepard’s chambers.

The short blocked the two devices off of the security screen, flashing a momentary warning on Miranda’s security screen. She overrode the coding and deleted the camera and microphone from the system. Teeth clenched, emotion simmering in the pit of her stomach, she closed her consoles and stood from her desk, walking into her private bedroom.

With a heavy sigh, she sat at the chair by the window and gazed, confused and uncertain, out at the stars.


	5. Chapter 5

Shepard tied the secondary ammo pouch around his left arm, securing it in place as he walked through the tunnel of the third deck of the Normandy towards the battery room. He paused before the door at the end of the corridor and waved his hand over the sensor to enter. Garrus stood at the console, checking the calibrations of the weapons system. The turian grunted. “Shepard. There’s a lot to do. Come back later.”

“I came to ask you to accompany me back into Nos Astra. While we’re here, we might as well find this assassin.”

Garrus paused and looked down the weapons corridor then turned to eye the commander warily. “Who are we going with?”

Shepard crossed his arms over his chest, casually leaning into a hip as he eyed Garrus through his visor. “That’s why I’m asking you. Who would you like to go?”

Garrus waited, gaze steady as he assessed the situation. “That’s not my decision, Shepard. This is your mission and I’m along for the ride.”

Shepard paced towards the railing at the edge of the console. “You know who I’d bring. But then you won’t come and I want you with me. I need you at my back going after an assassin and if you don’t trust my other squad mate, we’re going to get ourselves killed.”

“Oh no no,” Garrus shook his head. “We’re not starting this again. Don’t put words in my mouth.” He sighed. “Look, it’s not that I don’t trust Miranda. I do. She’s a great fighter and I have no doubt in her ability.” He paused in reflection before admitting. “I don’t trust your ability and judgment when she’s in your squad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Shepard snapped then lifted a hand, closing his eyes. “Sorry. Sorry, just … explain.”

“Just like that,” Garrus stated with a wave of his hand. “Your passion for that woman is greater than for the mission. You’re my friend, Shepard. That’s why I’m saying this to you. You seem to be making a habit of getting involved with the women of your crew. But with Williams and T’Soni it wasn’t nearly this detrimental to your abilities. Remember on Ilos, the security complex. All those Geth.”

Shepard nodded solemnly.

“Williams fell … remember? The rocket.”

“Yeah,” Shepard whispered.

“You pulled her out of the crossfire. But that was it. You finished the battle because it’s what had to be done. I want you to think ahead. Think about where we could possibly go on this crazy ass mission you sucked me into.” Garrus smirked in an attempt to lighten his words. “If Lawson falls on a collector ship. What would you do?”

“Save her.” Shepard answered without hesitation, then quickly continued. “I’d save any of you. I won’t sacrifice you to the collectors.”

“But at what cost, Shepard? You left Alenko behind because you had to make that difficult decision. Could you have left Williams behind?”

“I … I couldn’t pick Ash. Kaidan was my friend but I just … I couldn’t leave her with the bomb.”

“Now think ahead again. You have to leave someone behind on a collector vessel. Me … or Lawson.” Garrus held up a hand to silence Shepard. “Don’t answer that. I already know who you’d pick even though you won’t admit it.”

“That’s not true.” Shepard defended. “I’d stay behind. I’d save you both. I’m not sacrificing a friend again. I won’t do it.”

“Sometimes, it doesn’t work that way.”

Quiet for nearly a minute, Shepard turned his head slightly to look at Garrus. “I saved her life. I saved yours back on Omega.”

“I know. I have a suggestion. Leave her on the ship while we go after the assassin. Get your emotions in check. Hell or go after her now and get it out of your system so I don’t need to watch you pacing like a beast ready to pounce.”

Shepard laughed. “It is not that simple.” Shaking his head, he sobered. “Miranda has come with me on almost every mission. We’re in sync. A good team. I know how she moves, how she fights and she understands the same of me.”

“One mission isn’t going to change that.”

“No, no you’re right.” Shepard pushed off the railing. “Get your stuff and meet me at the airlock in ten minutes. And get Jacob to come with us. He hasn’t been off the ship in a while and is probably itching for a change of scenery.”

Garrus smiled with a nod. “Can do, Shepard. Good luck.”

With determination, Shepard left the battery room for Miranda’s office. Intent on his decision, he waved a hand over the sensor to her door and stepped inside. Miranda stood just passed her desk by her bed, her back to the door. Her shoulders pinched as she looked down to zipper up the side of her tight suit then button the flap over the front. She glanced back over her shoulder at him. “Ah, commander. I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

Shepard swallowed hard, eyes focused on her. Perhaps Garrus was right. Just looking at her nearly crippled him, hazed his mind with desire. He needed to get the lust out of his system before it distracted him enough to kill him.

Miranda placed a foot on the nearby table by her couch to fasten the thigh high boots then load the necessary clips for her pistol along the side of the boot. She repeated the process with the other leg.

“I uhm … I needed to talk to you, Miranda.” He stepped further into her quarters, raising a hand to stop her. “You don’t need to keep getting ready. I’m taking Garrus and Jacob.”

She paused and looked up at him, heeled boot still planted firmly on the table.

“I know you usually come with me and I love having you on my team when I’m in combat. We move like one.” He grinned, eyes playful as he let them linger on her thigh then down to her boot. “In combat, that is.” He cleared his throat and chuckled then crossed his arms in an attempt to appear controlled. “But I need heavy fire power with me and Garrus is the best I got. And Jacob hasn’t been off the ship in a long time. I’m sure he’d like his legs stretched for a bit.”

She watched his reaction and his eyes the entire time then lowered her foot from the table to walk towards him. “Alright, I suppose that makes sense. Jacob has been a bit antsy lately. I’d have cabin fever too was I in his position.”

Shepard released the breath he held slowly and smiled. “Good. While you’re here, I need your help. I have a few major upgrades for the Normandy I have pending through our research terminal. I’d like you to see which ones are the most important and have the crew get started. We have to get the ship’s defenses up and upgraded as soon as possible. We don’t know when we’ll see the collector’s again and I want to be ready when it happens.”

“Of course, Commander,” Miranda nodded. “Would you like to focus on offensive or defensive abilities first?”

“Defensive.” Shepard answered. “A big gun won’t do us any good if they breathe on us and the hull breaches.” He stepped aside as she walked passed him to sit at her desk and she brought up the research terminal information. He followed her then placed his hands on her desk beside her, leaning over to look at the display. He pointed to the third option on the screen. “Here is where I pulled some of them aside. Talk to Mordin, see what he thinks too. I trust both of you to make the best decision on what we need. Oh I also had him research into upgrading better ammunition for your submachine gun. Thought you’d appreciate that.”

“I do, Commander,” Miranda responded with a smile. “Thank you. They were not very effective against some of the stronger armors and shields on the mercs.”

“I know. I need my team at their best.” He pushed up and rested a hand on her shoulder. “If there are any other advanced upgrades you need, let me know. I don’t know what to look for to help your biotics.”

“You’ve been doing just fine, Commander. The few that you’ve acquired so far have already been a large help.”

“But still. I value your opinion, Miranda. I trust you. I’ll be back soon.”

“Good luck, Commander.” Miranda watched him as he left the room, the door whooshing closed behind him.

When the door closed, the tablet on her desk flickered to life. The illusive man appeared, legs crossed in his usual seated position, a smoldering cigarette resting between two fingers. “Miranda.”

“Sir,” she eyed the tablet image then continued with her work, inspecting the upgrades.

“Tell me, do you feel the Lazarus project is a success?”

“Yes, sir. Without hesitation. He has all of his combat abilities and the same charisma to lead this entire crew on a suicide mission to the mouth of hell. And the crew, they are happy with him. Morale is high and people are positive.”

The illusive man exhaled and paused in thought before completely changing the conversation. “I sent information regarding the Shadow Broker to Shepard’s message box some time ago. See that he gives it to Liara T’Soni.”

“Of course. What information is it?”

“Information she has been looking for. I’m certain that Shepard will not turn down her request for help once she sees what we have to offer.” He snuffed out his cigarette. “Shepard’s faith in Cerberus is wavering. This cannot happen. We have different motives, Shepard and I, but we have the same goal. I need him. He needs me. We cannot have him going rogue.”

“I understand.”

“At any cost, Ms. Lawson. Is that understood? This mission is far too important for emotions to surface. After Shepard has finished on Illium, he will likely turn the Normandy towards Citadel space to recruit Kasumi. She will prove a valuable edition. While he is on the Citadel, you will make contact with another operative at the Dark Star who will hand you a package. Under no circumstance is anyone to witness this exchange. Is that understood, Operative?”

“Yes, sir.” Miranda answered sternly, eyes intense on the illusive man, business-like and determined. “What is the information? Perhaps Shepard could help if it is of such vital importance.”

“No.” The illusive man cut his hand through the air in dismissal. “Shepard is the last person who is to have any hint of what is in that package. Do you understand? Let me make that perfectly clear. Do not tell Shepard what is in that package and what you will be doing.”

She nodded curtly. “Understood.”

The image of the Illusive man fizzled away. Alone, she allowed her emotion loose. She slammed a clenched fist down on her desk, the resounding bang echoed loudly through her chambers. The omni-tool on her wrist sprung to life at the contact causing the displays to crackle and distort with its power. Her face contorted in confused emotion. “God … damn it!” She raked a hand through her hair and stood, frustrated, pacing to the window to look out at the stars of the Crescent Nebula.

+++

Shepard returned with Thane and an uninjured team before the evening ended. He ducked under the warm stream of water pouring from the showerhead in his private bathroom. Closing his eyes, he sighed as the warmth massaged away the tension from his muscles and soothed the exhaustion from too little sleep. He cleaned the few scratches and scrapes on his body and the gash on his neck from a stray piece of shrapnel before soaping his entire body. He tilted his chin to his chest as he watched the filth of battle and soot from the thermal fire swirl down the drain.

Clean, he turned off the water stream then dried off. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he exited the bathing room and paused at his desk. He opened the bottom drawer and picked up the metallic picture frame he had abused for the last few months. He activated the frame and Ashley’s picture materialized.

Using a single finger, he swiped it over the picture, scrolling to the next. Kaiden. He scrolled again. Liara. He smiled as the nostalgia flooded his senses. He scrolled through all of the pictures from his former crew, not just the team but all of those lost when the first Normandy exploded. He continued through the pictures then passed Ashley again and finally stopped on Liara. He released a slow steady sigh and with a smile, placed the frame back in the bottom drawer and closed it.

Dressing in his standard casual wear, he swiped a hand over the sensor to feed his fish on his way to the elevator and took the shuttle to the crew’s quarters. So maybe Garrus was right. Maybe he was a bit emotional and involved when it came to Miranda but frankly, he didn’t care. He enjoyed her company, their talks. He liked fighting beside her especially when they took the same cover, back to back at a crate or a pillar. They rarely spoke during battle, intuition guiding them as if in wordless communication. He never felt so connected to another, on or off the field of battle and he was damn well ready to explore the feeling.

He knew Miranda likely read the entire report about Thane’s recruitment. Shepard assumed she had sources that reported the outcome before he submitted his brief account. He waved his hand over the sensor to her quarters and stepped inside.

Miranda glanced up from her terminal. “Commander, what can I do for you?”

Shepard held her eyes. “Do you have a minute, Miranda?”

She leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her. “Of course. I’d been meaning to speak with you, in fact.”

Miranda stood and turned from Shepard, walking into the private quarters and to the corner style couch. She sat at the far end, turned towards him and waited for him to sit. Expression soft, she leaned forward slightly as she scanned him with her eyes. “I … wanted to apologize,” she admitted softly, voice gentle. “I didn’t fully believe you’d be up to the task. And it seems I was wrong. Frankly, based on what I’ve seen, I wish Cerberus had recruited you earlier.”

Sitting opposite her, he searched her eyes. “I trust you, but I don’t trust Cerberus. Your experiments crossed the line.”

“All the time, yes,” she agreed without hesitation. “But I recall a Specter who crossed a few lines while hunting down Saren and the geth.”

Shepard tilted his head; she had him there. “What was Cerberus trying to prove by experimenting on children like Jack?”

“A mistake.” She responded. “No question. Not mine. And one that was corrected once we discovered the extent of the experiments being performed.”

“With your intelligence, you could have landed any job you wanted. Why choose this?” Shepard inquired, curious to her motives and her thoughts.

She leaned back slightly, offering an honest answer. “Because I still envy the time Mordin spent with the special tasks group, working with people as smart as he was. Cerberus never tells me that something is impossible.” She shifted her weight to settle more comfortably on the couch. “They give me the resources and say, ‘Do it.’ And they’ve given you even more. A new life, new ship, the Illusive man’s personal attention…”

Shepard hid any disdain for the final suggestion. “The best thing he did was put you on my squad.” A truer statement was never spoken.

“You’d have done fine without me,” she dismissed easily. “I may not have believed it before, but …” she ducked her head, eyes on the textured fabric of the couch. “I don’t have what you do – the fire that makes someone willing to follow you into hell itself.” She stood, pacing away from him to the window and leaned into her hip as she put her hand on her waist. “And you’ve done more than I could. Despite everything my father did to make me perfect, you’re …” she sighed. “You’re the best humanity has to offer. While my father got me the best genes money can buy. Guess it wasn’t enough.”

Shepard leaned forward, resting a forearm on his thigh as he stared intensely at her back. His stomach clenched as he eyed the lean and luscious curves. Physically perfect, yet so insecure. “You always bring up your genetic tailoring. It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” He stood, slowing approaching her to stand behind her.

“This is what I am, Shepard.” She said, defeated. “I can’t hide it. The intelligence, the looks, even the biotics … he paid for all of that. Every one of your accomplishments is due to your skill.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him then back out the window. “The only things I can take credit for are my mistakes.” She finished with a tinge of bitterness.

He smirked slowly at that, trailing a teasing finger along her spine at the small of her back. “Wait a minute. Are you … jealous?”

She turned on him and scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, resisting the urge to kiss her. She was at her sexiest when passion simmered beneath her usual calm exterior. He taunted her; he needed to see more of that passion, to show her she was not some programmed genetic machine, but a passionate human beneath the facade. “The genetic mutt that the Illusive man put in charge. Man, that must sting.” He shifted his weight and took a step closer, provoking. He knew she’d bite.

She did the same, challenging a moment before taking a step back, eyeing him warily. “First, it’s not a competition. And second, based on your combat records, you’re practically a perfect bloody human specimen.” She responded snidely.

He watched her intensely as she shifted nervously under his gaze, like a caged animal, cornered, looking for escape. He stepped closer. “Perfect human specimen, huh?”

She planted her back foot and lifted her chin, meeting his eyes defiantly. Her voice deepened slightly, a subconscious sultry timbre. “Don’t get cocky. I’m the one who put you back together, remember?” She stepped closer to him as she eyed his chest, reaching out with a hand to his arm. “And I do damn good work.”

“You certainly do,” he closed the distance between them. He couldn’t resist anymore; fuck the consequences. He leaned down to kiss her and his ego soared when she met him half way. His lips captured hers, hands sliding along her waist to hold her in place, unwilling to release her.

She matched his fire, taking his lips once then once again as one hand rested on his arm, the other gliding over the back of his neck, fingers tickling his hairline. She pulled back sharply, head ducked a moment as she glanced up at him from under hooded eyes, glazed with the hint of passion. She touched her mouth with the backs of her fingers. “What the hell was that?”

He braced himself and leaned back into his hips, watching with delight at her discomfort. She wanted him, probably just as much as he wanted her.

She took two steps back from him. “Ok this doesn’t mean anything. We just … God, I need … I’ll talk to you later.”

A sly, boyish grin tugged at his lips before splitting across his face as he watched her brush past him to her terminal. She turned back to look at him and couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “And stop smiling, damn it!” Her tone, playful.

“Scared, Ms. Lawson?” He teased, following her.

“Cautious, Commander Shepard.” She responded simply and paused at her desk, a hand on the back of her chair to spin it towards her. “But …” she glanced back at him, eyes on his before gliding down his chest then back up to his face. “Interested. Very … interested.”

“Interested, huh?” He stepped closer, reaching out to slide a hand along her hip.

“Shepard …” she looked down at his hand, tensing. “I … there’s a lot to do. I need to think. Please.”

“Alright,” he husked and rubbed a thumb along her waist before stepping back. “We’re going to head to the Citadel next. Get some supplies and I can recruit this thief. Maybe even give the crew a twenty four hour shore leave while I get some upgrades performed on the ship.”

“Do you think we can afford a shore leave so soon?”

“Twenty four hours won’t make a difference. The crew deserves it. You all do. A small rest because chances are, we won’t have another.” He smiled almost sadly. “I’ll talk to you later, Miranda.”

Miranda nodded slowly. “Commander.” She watched his back as he left her office. When he was gone, she sighed and ducked her head into her hands, closing her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Before setting a course for the Citadel, Shepard instructed Joker to take the ship towards the Amada system in the Omega Nebula. Upon entering the system, Shepard walked down the long corridor towards the bridge and stood behind Joker, looking out at the expanse of the system. Memories flooded his mind from his last visit to the Amada system and the fatal consequences of their search.

“Never thought I’d be back here, Commander,” Joker commented as he guided the Normandy through the system.

Silent, Shepard nodded, eyes searching the space and the familiar haze of the planets.

“Let’s try not to have a repeat of last time, ok?” Joker said with a forced smile. “I don’t plan on losing a second Normandy. Bad track record for a pilot, ya know?”

Shepard offered a smile and patted Joker on the shoulder. “Yeah, I know. Take us to Alchera.”

Joker hesitated. “Alchera? Commander, you sure about that?”

“I’m sure. That was the closest planet when the original Normandy was attacked. Chances are that’s where the wreckage is. I need to find it.”

“You got it, boss man.” Joker said and rolled his shoulders as he shifted in his seat, guiding the ship towards the fourth planet of the system. “Are you going down, Commander?”

“I’m going to have EDI scan it first. See if there are any anomalies or signs of the crash site. We can probe for some resources while we’re there too. We’re running low and Mordin’s been barking about that.”

When the Normandy neared the planet, Joker tensed, eyes darting as he constantly monitored the radar and the surrounding space. “Gotta be on guard,” he stated to EDI as the AI flickered upon the console. “Last time I was here, wasn’t too pleasant.”

“That would be an understatement, Mr. Moreau.” The AI quipped.

Joker eased the Normandy into orbit around the planet and switched on the scanners. “Alright, EDI, do your thing.”

“Anomaly detected.” The AI stated immediately.

From his place at the galactic map, Shepard maneuvered the scanners, probing the world not only for resources but for information about the anomaly. A slow smile finally crept onto his face as he whispered. “It’s her.” He pushed away from the galactic map. “Joker, send the coordinates to the shuttle. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Aye, Commander.” Joker responded, looking curiously over his console down at the icy planet below. “Wonder what it looks like.”

“Alchera is the fourth planet of the Amada system,” EDI stated flatly. “orbiting at 9.5 astronomical units with an orbital period of 29.4 earth years. The surface temperature averages at approximately negative 22 degrees Celsius with a surface gravitational measurement of …”

“Thank you … EDI,” Joker interrupted. “You know next time you can just say, ‘Pretty damn cold’. Or ‘Holy crap, it’s always dark.’”

“I was simply answering your question with accuracy, Mr. Moreau. Pretty … damn … cold is a fairly subjective response as I do not feel cold. Thus what is cold to you, will have no effect on me. Perhaps I could state instead: Based upon the core body temperature of human comfort the temperature of Alchera would be unsuitable for human existence without the assistance of protective outerwear.”

Joker sighed. “The old Normandy was so quiet.” He rested his chin in his hand as he planted his elbow into the arm of his leather pilot’s chair and jammed his thumb onto the mute button.

Shepard purposefully strode through the docking bay towards the awaiting shuttle. He fiddled with the fasteners of his helmet then pulled the snug headpiece down over his head and attached it to the rest of his armor. “Joker, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Commander.”

“Great, keep your eyes peeled and keep in touch. I don’t know how long I’ll be but I only got about four hours of air. Shoulda recharged it last week.”

“Aye, Commander.”

Shepard rechecked his armor and the airtank attached to the back of his suit then his omni-tool to ensure the environmental controls of the suit were active and stable. He looked up at the shuttle and paused in his stride. Miranda stood in the hatch of the shuttle, a hand extended to hold the bar as she leaned into it slightly, waiting for him. She wore a thin flexible armor; he never saw her in anything but the tight catsuit before. A visor extended ear to ear across her eyes in an orange patterned design. Her other hand hung limply at her side, a helmet in its grasp.

“Miranda, what do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re not going down there alone.” She pulled the helmet on, fastening it to the collar of her suit. “I understand why you’re going. I’m not judging you for that. But I’m not letting you go alone.”

“I don’t want company.”

“You won’t have it. I’m just here to fly.”

Shepard placed a single foot into the shuttle, looking up at the woman. “This is something I have to do.”

She shrugged casually. “I’m not arguing with you. I just offered to fly.” She repeated then turned from him and walked towards the cockpit of the shuttle.

He tilted his head, eyes raking her and settling on her hips. Every curve accentuated, even her heavy armor left nothing to the imagination. He quickly shook his head to clear his mind and pulled himself up into the shuttle then closed the hatch.

He eyed the memorial for the Normandy to be placed at the crash site as he sat at the back of the shuttle, legs spread and arms resting on his thighs. He ducked his head and closed his eyes when the shuttle launched and descended to the planet. Focused, he inhaled then exhaled calming his mind and forcing the tension to expel from his body.

He was exhausted, sleeping little and eating even less. Every moment he laid down to sleep, someone called on the communication device or his personal terminal binged to announce a received unread message. And the damn thing binged constantly every five minutes until the message was read. His mind refused to still. Food tasted like dust since his return to life, everything the same and entirely unsatisfying though that could be due to the army rations. His body felt weak but he refused to give in to the exhaustion. There was too much to do; he planned to sleep after they stopped the collectors.

The shuttle landed on the planet’s surface and Miranda’s professional voice announced the arrival. “Shuttle down, Commander. Just let me know when you’re ready to move the memorial.”

“Thanks, Miranda.” He stood and threw open the hatch. He staggered slightly at the steady wind blasting into him then leaned forward to step out of the shuttle. He hadn’t even noticed any turbulence on the descent. Either Miranda was the best damn pilot around or he was so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t feel it.

Inspecting the crash site, memories flooded him, nearly crippling in their intensity. Minutes passed as he coped with the loss of a life, not only his but his crewmates. He found the perfect place for the memorial and returned to the shuttle for the metallic monument. The piece lay on its side in the shuttle and Shepard crouched down to grab a hold of the monument then tried to stand.

The monument heavy, he struggled to lift even one end. He braced himself and tried to shift the weight before muscles tensed in a second attempt.

“Shepard?”

He ignored the questioning delivery of his name and focused on the monument. He had to place it. The crew deserved it. Kaidan deserved it. Suddenly the weight was gone. Shocked, Shepard opened his eyes to see the entire monument glowing blue and suspended in the air. He turned his head quickly to the right.

Miranda stood just past the cockpit, a single hand extended towards the monument. A blue aura emanated from her as her biotic energies levitated the heavy object. “Where to?” She asked simply, in complete mental control of the daunting task. The memorial was heavy and he knew she had to focus intensely to keep it levitated and to manipulate it with intricate exactitude yet the difficult concentration appeared easy to her.

Accepting her help, he jumped out of the shuttle. “This way.”

Miranda followed him with cautious steps, maneuvering the memorial with delicate precision out of the shuttle then towards the space he chose. She walked behind the object. Her biotic powers intensified the longer she utilized them; the blue aura around her expanded and pulsed as her usual sapphire eyes changed to a brilliant icy blue.

He pointed to the exact spot for the monument and watched her, transfixed, nearly entranced by her as she twisted her wrist to turn the memorial to a vertical position then slowly lower it to its permanent resting place. She finally released the monument and lowered her hand though her entire body still pulsated and glowed with energy. He saw only her eyes through her helmet, beautiful and bright from her energy consumption.

“Thank you,” he whispered to her and though he couldn’t see her mouth, her eyes smiled and she inclined her head to him. She looked up at the memorial. “It is a fine monument, Commander.”

He circled the monument and nodded. “Yes. It is.”

She waited in silence another moment. Her biotics calmed slightly but the aura remained as her powers slowly recharged. She turned back to the shuttle and as she passed him, she reached out to gently touch his arm. Her hand slowly slid away as she returned to the shuttle and stepped inside.

Shepard remained at the monument, staring at its curved beauty. Glinting metallic grabbed his attention out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head, brow furrowed. He walked to the shiny object and knelt to one knee. Dusting away the methane snow with his hand, he picked up the metallic object and ran his finger over the surface. ‘Hector Emerson.’ Dog tags.

He fisted the chain in his hand then looked around in the snow and ice, searching for more.

After an hour, Miranda stood from her place in the cockpit and walked to the shuttle hatch. Her eyes scanned the crash site. Shepard slammed the butt of his rifle into a crate then knelt to dig through the shattered pieces. Confused, she stepped out of the shuttle and approached him. “Shepard?”

Unresponsive, he tossed some large pieces of the crate aside before picking up a shining piece of metal. He stood then turned to Miranda, a dozen dog tags hanging from his left arm. He wrapped the most recent tag around his left wrist then eyed Miranda. “Twenty crew mates died with me that day. If their tags are here I have to find them.”

Any sign of her biotic powers subdued, her colorful aura gone and eyes their normal deep and swirling blue. She nodded. “I can help you find them.”

“I …” he wanted to find them himself but he had less than two hours left of air. “Ok. I didn’t check over there.” He pointed to the crew’s area of the wreckage.

Together, they found the rest of the tags within the hour. Miranda waited for him at the hatch and when he approached, she slipped the tags over his left hand. “Twenty?”

He nodded and looked at the tags reverently. “Twenty.”

“I’ll start the shuttle. Close the hatch when you’re ready.” His eyes followed her back to the cockpit and when she sat down, he turned to look one last time over the crash site. With a sense of relief, closure and peace, he stepped into the shuttle and closed the hatch.

On the twenty minute flight back up to the Normandy, Shepard walked into the cockpit. He watched Miranda expertly pilot the shuttle, fingers agile as they swept across sensors, setting precise coordinates and maintaining the proper trajectory for rendezvous. So graceful, beautiful, powerful, talented. So damn perfect. “I wanted to thank you again, Miranda. I did want to do this alone but I wouldn’t have been able to place that memorial without you.”

“It was nothing, Shepard. I’m glad I can help you with this. After everything you’ve done for me, especially with Oriana, this is the least I can do.”

“I didn’t help you with Oriana because I wanted to be repaid, or to make you feel you owed me something.”

“I know. You had no ulterior motives,” she said simply, her voice steady though gentler than usual. “That is why I wanted to help you. No one has ever done something for me before just because. There was always another purpose. Except Niket, I suppose. He was a friend but in the end, anyone can be bought for the right price.”

“Money won’t buy me, Miranda.”

“You can’t make that statement. Everyone has a price.”

“Do you have a price?” He asked. “You had said Cerberus would give you nearly unlimited funds. If they gave you unlimited funds on the condition that you jettisoned me out the airlock, would you do it?”

“Of course not, that’s ridiculous.” She stated simply then added. “I’d do that for free if you frustrated me enough.”

Shepard laughed as the shuttle repressurized and removed his helmet, scratching his short hair His eyes lightened and when she reached up to fiddle with the clasps of her helmet, he touched her hand. “Let me. You fly.” His fingers danced around her collar, unfastening the seals of her helmet before opening the back then carefully lifting it off of her head.

Miranda reached up with a hand to run her fingers through her hair, fluffing it and easing out any tangles from the tight helmet. “You laugh now.” She smirked as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Just push me far enough, Shepard, and you’ll see what I can do to you.”

“Oh, that’s what I’m hoping for, Ms. Lawson.” He murmured flirtatiously in her ear. Before she could respond, he rested a hand on her shoulder then turned from the cockpit to walk back into the main area of the shuttle.

After docking in the bay of the Normandy, Shepard and Miranda exited the shuttle. The moment his foot touched the floor of the docking bay, Joker’s voice rang through the area. “Commander, the Illusive man is waiting for you in the communications room. I patched him through. He wanted the link to stay live until you returned.”

Shepard groaned. “No fucking end.”

Concerned, Miranda took her helmet from his offered hand. “If he’s keeping the link live, it’s serious. He never does that.”

“Yeah, well he can wait til after I take a piss,” he grumbled.

+++

In her office, Miranda typed a brief report into her terminal before removing her visor then stepping into her private chambers to change out of the heavy armor. She glanced at the tight leather suit lying on her bed as she set the armor on the couch. Slowly, she pulled the leather suit over her legs then up over her hips, shifting to adjust against the tight fabric. She turned her back to the door as she slipped the suit further up and slid her arms through the sleeves.

The door to her office opened as she zippered the side of the suit and fastened the buttons. She ran her fingers through her hair and glanced over her shoulder at the door. “Chambers. This is unexpected.”

Kelly Chambers quirked a little smile at Miranda and shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Yes, Operative Lawson, I know I don’t usually come down here. Well except to sleep. Because I do sleep in the crew chambers and to eat because this is where the mess hall is. But I usually just talk to Commander Shepard. To give him information about the crew and what they need and their current condition.”

“I am aware of your sleeping arrangements and duties, Ms Chambers.” Miranda stepped to her desk and sat down, motioning for Chambers to sit at the opposite chair. “But something is obviously bothering you. And if you are coming to me, it must be quite serious.”

“I … I don’t want to say it’s not serious but I also don’t want to make it seem like this is trivial.” Chambers quickly stated. “Commander Shepard trusts me and I don’t want him to think that I’m betraying that trust but … well I have already talked to him about this issue and he’s ignoring it. I don’t know who else to talk to. I thought maybe the turian, but I’m still monitoring his mental stability as his brain waves do fluctuate at times so it could be hard to get a calm and controlled response if something were, say, to cause anger.”

Miranda held up a hand. “Miss Chambers, it’s obvious you’re very worried about Commander Shepard. If something is wrong, I would like to know. If he is not at his best, we are not at our best.”

Chambers nodded, her short red hair bobbing with the quick movements. “Yes, of course. You’re right. Well, as you know, I monitor the habits of the crew. Whether it’s mental, physical … everything. Shepard’s vitals have been … declining.”

“What?” Miranda leaned forward, brow furrowed in concern. “What do you mean, declining? Is his reconstruction failing? Are his cells degenerating?”

Chambers shook her head. “No no, nothing like that. Not yet at least. I just mean his sleeping and eating habits. He sleeps only a couple of hours a night, if that. Sometimes only four hours in a thirty six hour period. With that kind of schedule, his body is bound to shut down from exhaustion. And his eating habits. He rarely eats. The mess sergeant was muttering how no matter what he does, the commander always sends back the tray with very little consumed. I worry because, well I know that he’s a special scenario.” She shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t have to eat and sleep anymore because well he was dead and isn’t dead now so his body needs are different.”

Miranda frowned. “No, his body needs the same as it always had before he died. Thank you for telling me, Miss Chambers.”

“Of course, Operative Lawson. Thank you.” Chambers stood. “I … please don’t tell the Commander I told you.”

Miranda stood as well. “Don’t worry, Chambers, I won’t tell him. You were right to tell me. Thank you again.”

Chambers smiled nervously and saluted before scurrying out the office door.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 Shepard stepped out of the hologram projector in the communications room, disconnecting the link with the Illusive man. The circular hollow table rose from the floor, resuming its position as a hologram of the Normandy flickered to life at the center. He turned to look at the hologram before leaning forward, hands pressed into the edge of the table. Ducking his head, he sighed. “Joker.”

“Commander.”

“Did the coordinates come in from the Illusive man?”

“They’re coming in now. Shall I set a course?”

“Yes, immediately. What’s the ETA?”

EDI responded. “Six hours, ten minutes, Commander Shepard.”

“Thank you, EDI.” He quieted for a few moments, pacing around the circular table before activating the communication for the ship. “Normandy Crew, this is Commander Shepard. I’m sure you all felt the mass effect core activate. We will be at our destination in just over six hours. I want all hands to get some rest, four hours. I’ll have more information for everyone at that time. Squad members, report to the communications room in four hours. Shepard out.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, legs spread as he stared at the Normandy hologram. Reaching up with a hand, he scratched the few days old stubble on his chin, the only sound the scratching of his bristly facial hair. “EDI, when we were on Horizon, did you get any scans of the Collector ship?”

“Yes, Commander Shepard, I did. I did not get any readings as to the intricacies of the vessel, but I do have a layout.”

“Excellent. Send it to my personal terminal.” Shepard left the communications room and strode through the corridors and passed the Combat Information Center to the elevator. Crew members closed down their stations to let the Normandy run dark as they prepared to retire for a few hours. He rode the elevator alone to his cabin.

Upon entry, his private terminal binged in announcement of unread messages. He skimmed each message then picked up the terminal and walked down the couple stairs into the main quarter. He sat on the couch, leaning forward to set the terminal on the table in front of him. He tapped his fingers along the tablet and the image of the collector ship opened.

He studied the image for an hour, making notes and memorizing the general lay out, inspecting the image for any signs of weakness.

“Commander,” a soft voice called from the other side of the room.

Shepard lifted his head, eyes weary. Miranda stood on the staircase, leaning against the railing as she watched him with concerned eyes. Shepard turned his attention back to the image. “Lawson.”

“I see you’re ignoring your own order.”

“I can rest when I’m dead.” He stated then slowly smirked as he glanced up at her. “Or after the mission, whichever comes first.”

Miranda chuckled, walking down the stairs then stood at the side of the couch, arms crossed as she leaned into a hip, waiting.

Shepard sighed. “I assume the Illusive man told you where we’re going.”

“He did,” she said softly and looked at the hologram image emitting from his tablet.

He scoffed and shook his head. “I like how I’m under the impression of being in charge of this ship, but things are constantly happening behind my back.”

She uncrossed her arms and sat beside him on the edge of the couch. “I answer to the Illusive man, yes. But I will never undermine you, Shepard. This is your mission and I am under your command.”

“Are you under my command if the Illusive man gives you an order that differs from mine?” His voice tinged in bitterness. He groaned as soon as the words left his mouth and he lifted a hand slightly. “Don’t answer that.” Rubbing his eyes he sighed and leaned back against the couch, letting his head tilt to the side.

“You’re exhausted.” She reached over, turning off the hologram image and shutting off his terminal. “You won’t be any good to us if you collapse on that Collector ship. Please, try to get some sleep.”

“Too much shit going on,” he muttered. “No time for sleep.”

“Do you trust me, Shepard?”

“Huh?” his eyes open and he glanced towards her.

“You heard me. Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” he admitted softly without hesitation.

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lip as she took his hand and stood pulling him to his feet. “Alright. Then you lie down and sleep for a couple of hours. And let me study the Collector Vessel. I’ll fill you in on what I learned and we can decide what to do before we talk to the squad in three hours.”

He stretched when he stood. “No, that’s not right. You need to rest. I can do this.”

“I understand your personal responsibility. But you’re still only human, Shepard. You need to sleep.” She tugged on his arm, leading him to the bed.

He walked in front of her to stand at the bed’s edge, the backs of his knees to the mattress. He slid a playful hand along her waist. “Can’t convince you to join me?”

She arched a brow and placed a delicate hand at the center of his chest then gave a forceful push. Shepard sat on the bed, eyes intense on her as his hand trailed down her hip to her thigh. She leaned closer to him and grinned, pushing on his chest so he lay back. “I only take the best, Shepard, and it seems you’re too tired to be at your best.”

“Ouch,” he hissed then laughed as he moved further back on the bed. “Your loss, Lawson.”

She stood with a smile. “I think it is actually your loss, Commander.” She walked to the couch and sat down to reactivate the hologram.

Shepard groaned at that and closed his eyes, letting his head hit the pillow. He muttered something, though it came out garbled in his tired state. Within two minutes, he slept snoring softly.

Two hours later, Miranda sat back from the table, crossing her legs on the couch as she pulled the tablet closer to reexamine her notes on the Collector ship. Pleased with the compilation and accuracy, she glanced from the tablet to Shepard. Unmoving for the last couple hours, his deep and steady breathing and the soft snore were the only signs of life.

Setting the tablet on the center table, she stood and approached the bed. “Shepard,” she called softly to him, cautious with her approach to waking him. He proved time and again to be a dangerous soldier and she knew better then to startle him. “Shepard, it’s been a little over two hours.”

His breathing deep, he slept.

She sat on the side of the bed just at his knee and reached out with a hand, gently touching that knee. She shook it gently. “Shepard.”

He startled awake, sitting up instantly, muscles tight in alarm. He searched the surrounding room quickly before his eyes found Miranda’s. He calmed and moaned as he reached up to touch his head. The quick movement nauseated him. “God … damn it.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, concerned. “I had to wake you. You need your sleep but … just one more mission then you can sleep longer.”

He rubbed his temples at the throbbing pain and then rubbed his eyes. “Two hours already?”

She smiled softly and nodded. “I think I have an idea the best way on and off the collector ship. When you’re ready, I can show it to you.”

“Nah, I’m ready now.”

She watched as he ran his hands over his face in an attempt to pull the sleep away. She slowly shook her head. “Go splash some water on your face. You’ll feel better.”

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right.” He swung his legs off the side of the bed and walked slowly up the stairs to his bathing room.

Miranda stood from the bed and returned to the couch, picking up the tablet to activate her notes. The water ran in the bathroom a few minutes before turning off. Shepard walked out, rubbing a towel over his face then his head before tossing it carelessly over the railing of the stairs.

“Alright, what have you got?” He sat beside her on the couch, circles still under his eyes though he appeared awake and lucid.

She showed him the tablet then pointed to the holographic image of the collector ship. “The ship is engineering genius. I can’t really tell what it’s made of – some combination of metallic and organic signatures based on EDI’s readings. There are few areas for us to gain access to the innards of the ship with the exception of here … and here.” She pointed to the mentioned points on the collector ship.

“What is that there?” Shepard asked.

“Not sure,” she answered honestly. “But it is the only place I found where it appears you can get the Normandy close enough and stay far away from their weaponry. EDI suggested either of those two points for an entry. The Normandy can maintain a position and the shuttle can dock within two thousand kilometers.”

“Alright. What else?”

“There’s little else, really. We won’t know until we get in there. Other than an intricate arrangement of tunnels and rooms, its layout is unlike any ship I’ve ever seen before. It seems confusing and we could easily get lost or turned around inside. I’d suggest setting a waypoint at the shuttle so when returning, we have a homing direction through the omni-tool.”

“What more can you tell me about the collectors?”

“Not too much, sadly. We gathered no specimens from Horizon and have very little to go on. I’d say approach it as you usually do.”

He nodded slowly. “Incendiary ammunition first and then make changes as needed.” He tossed the tablet onto the table and with a sigh, leaned back on the couch, legs spread in an attempt to relax. He stared up at the dark grey bulkhead of the ceiling. “What the hell are we doing, Miranda?”

“I don’t understand your question, Commander. We’re getting ready to board a Collector vessel.”

He motioned to the table and the image of the collector ship. “We’ve got to be out of our fucking minds.”

She smirked at that. “Probably.” She sobered eyes distant in thought before continuing. “We’re here, Commander, because no one else in the galaxy could succeed. Other than you.”

“Why me?” He sat up then, eyes on her. “I still … you fed me this whole bit about having the fire and the ability and all of this other crap but … I was dead. I just can’t see why so much was invested in me to resurrect me just to play hero again.”

“I’ve told you, Shepard.” She tilted her head to watch him intently. “Do you want to hear it again? Or do you not believe me?”

He raked a hand over his head, scratching at the short hair. His expression frustrated, he sighed. “No, it’s not that I don’t believe you.”

“When I say that nobody else could do what you are doing, I mean it. Look at the team you’ve managed to assemble.”

He sliced a hand through the air and stood pacing to the aquarium. He clasped his hands behind his neck, fingers interlocking. “Nevermind. I … what else did you find out?”

“Nothing.” She stood and walked slowly up behind him. “There really wasn’t much information. That’s why we’re going.” She touched his shoulder. “Shepard. We brought you back because you’re the best. I may have doubted it before but I don’t anymore.”

He dropped his arms and turned his head slightly to look at her.

She searched his expression, dangerous in the mix of shadow and light caused by the aquarium. “No doubt. You live up to all the hype. Without you, we’re all dead.” Her hand lingered a moment before she turned from him and walked towards the elevator.

His eyes focused on her, watching every movement, every step as she waved her hand over the sensor for the elevator then left him alone.

+++

Shepard emerged from the elevator on the second deck. Kelly Chambers glanced back over her shoulder at him from her terminal before announcing. “The ground crew is assembled in the Communications room, Commander. The rest of the crew is all at their stations awaiting your orders.”

“Thank you, Kelly. Let the crew know they will be briefed after I talk to my squad.”

“Of course, Commander,”

“Joker,” Shepard called. “How long?”

EDI answered. “One hour fifty two minutes, Commander Shepard.”

“He asked me, EDI,” Joker stated with sarcastic flare.

“You were too slow, Mr. Moreau.”

Shepard ignored any more conversation between the pilot and the AI as he walked towards the communications room and stepped through the door. He paused at the sight of his crew assembled. Miranda and Jacob stood near the back, quietly conferring with each other while Jack looked on in disdain from her place leaning against the opposite wall. Garrus and Grunt stood to the left with arms crossed, staring at the hologram of the Normandy. Thane kept to himself, standing on his own near the right side, head ducked and hands clasped in meditative prayer. Samara stood near the door, her calm and collected demeanor exuded for all to witness. Her head tilted slightly to acknowledge Shepard’s presence, her piercing icy eyes radiated wisdom and strength.

Shepard inclined his head to her, an act she offered in return. Mordin paced nervously in front of Thane, eyes trained on the hologram image as his fingers tapped rhythmically on the thigh of his suit. Zaeed leaned against the wall at the far end, expression bored and arms crossed.

Walking by his crew, Shepard approached the console at the center. “I know I’ve kept you all in the dark for the last few hours, probably unnecessarily but I had to get my mind sorted before I tried to figure out how the hell to go about our next mission.”

“You just point to it, Shepard, and I’ll kill it,” Jack offered with a casual shrug and planted her boot up against a bolt of the hull.

“I agree,” Grunt concurred in his deep calm tone. “There is no need for secrecy among the clan.”

“Secrecy wasn’t my intention.” Shepard tapped his fingers along the console and changed the usual hologram of the Normandy to an image of the collector vessel. “In just under two hours … we’re going to rendezvous with a Collector ship.”

Jack arched a brow. “Man, you are one crazy son of a bitch.”

Garrus eyed the vessel image than Shepard. “The Normandy isn’t ready yet. The guns need upgrading.”

Shepard held up a hand to silence the murmurs of the crew. “I know. The Illusive man received some intel that the turians disabled the ship. The plan is to get in there, gather what information we can and get out before the Collectors come for their ship.”

Zaeed shifted his weight and stepped forward, motioning with a hand towards Miranda. “Alright, Shepard, and how do you know the Illusive man isn’t jerking us around?”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “If the Illusive man received the intel and gave it to us, it’s good. He wouldn’t lie about that. He wants us to succeed, not to get us killed before we hit the Omega 4 relay. So watch your tongue, Massani, you’re not paid for your opinion.”

Zaeed took a threatening step towards Miranda. The Cerberus Operative lifted her chin, matching the threat with a slight blue tinge around her hands as her biotics flickered to life.

“Huh,” Jack commented with a smirk. “What do ya know? The cheerleader has a pair.”

“We all have a pair,” Shepard commented. “It’s why we’re here and not running scared with piss in our pants. So I would really appreciate if we save the killing for the collectors and not each other, at least for now. After we save the god damn galaxy, I don’t care what you do.” He pressed his hands into the edge of the console as he leaned against it. “And everyone’s opinion matters to me. The mission is dangerous and every life on this ship is in my hands. I don’t take that responsibility lightly. So if you have something to say, say it. I want to hear it.” He looked up and around the room.

Garrus grunted. “I don’t like it, Shepard.”

“Neither do I,” Shepard agreed. “But we’re in route and in the end, the only way we can figure out how to get through the Omega 4 Relay is to find out how the Collectors do it. This may be our only chance.”

“Treat it like a recon,” Jacob drawled. “Small crew. Get in and get out as fast as possible. Get us as close to their power consoles as you can. Then we can patch EDI in and she can download everything they got.”

“I agree,” Grunt replied. “As much as I’d love to smash my fist into a hundred Collectors, speed and stealth will be our ally here.”

Shepard nodded. “Alright. Remember, just because the ship is disabled doesn’t mean the Collectors aren’t still on board. Mordin? Any thoughts?”

Mordin paced incessantly, his eyes fixed on the hologram as he obsessively tapped his fingers against his chin. “Infiltrating Collector ship is … dangerous, risky. Too risky. But benefits … far more benefits, yes. Trap? Likely, yes. The Collectors did not become what they are by … losing battles to Turians. Must be ready. Lots of information.” The salarian paused, eyes narrowed. “Need to gather as much as possible.”

Shepard pushed back from the console and eyed his crew. “Yes, there will be invaluable information on that ship. There may even be a chance of finding survivors from our colonies. We still don’t know what they’re doing to them in those pods. We have to rescue anyone we can if we find them alive. But that is not our main mission. Primary goal, gather intel. If we find survivors on the way then fine, but it’s not our top priority.” He sighed. “This brings me to the last part about this entire operation. I know I usually assign two of you to accompany me and give you little choice. But not this time. I won’t make that decision. So I’m going to ask for volunteers.”

“Shepard …” Miranda said without hesitation.

“But first,” Shepard lifted a hand to her. “There are two of you I want to stay on the Normandy. Garrus, I need you at the guns. If something happens and another ship comes in or the ship we’re on gets its weapons online, I’m going to need you working with EDI to get our defenses going.”

Garrus nodded. “Understood, Shepard.”

Shepard inclined his head in thanks then looked at Miranda. “Miranda, I want you on the bridge. You’re my second in command and I need the ship running like clockwork. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to find in there, but the crew here responds to you. I need them at their best and putting you in charge will ensure that.”

Stunned, Miranda held his eyes a moment before nodding her consent. “Of course, Commander.” Her expression gave nothing away to her thoughts.

He smiled. “Good.” Turning his attention to the others, he searched their faces. “Two volunteers … to follow me into hell and hopefully back.”

Samara gracefully stepped forward, intense eyes focused on the Commander. “I will go with you, Shepard. There may be innocents on board. I can sense life forces, whether innocent or not. I have yet to sense a Collector; I have not met one. But I would like to, so I may know what they are.”

“Thanks, Samara.”

Grunt cracked his knuckles. “I’ll go, Shepard.”

“Excellent, Thanks Grunt.” Shepard acknowledged. “I don’t want us the only ones on that shuttle. Jacob, you’re flying. Mordin, Thane, Jack, Zaeed you’re on board too. Stay on the shuttle or at the shuttle entrance. Mordin, I’m sure you’ll want to gather as much information and as many samples as you can. Hell if you get a specimen, as long as its dead, bring it aboard.”

“Good idea,” Mordin agreed and tapped his upper lip. “I will find quickly … what must be found. Specimen, samples yes. Very important. Perhaps technology. Yes. Will not wander far from shuttle.”

Jack’s lips quirked in a grin. “Anything comes near the shuttle I’m gonna shoot a shockwave up its ass.”

Zaeed scoffed. “Yeah, little girl. That’s not if I don’t blast its head off first.”

“Maybe I’ll shoot a shockwave up your ass first.” Jack challenged.

“Enough!” Shepard interrupted. “Save it for the mission. Make sure your suits are up and functional. We don’t know the atmosphere condition on that ship. Joker will notify the crew when we’re ten minutes away. Meet at the shuttle then. Dismissed.”

The crew turned, leaving the room, Jack and Zaeed exchanging verbal jabs. Jacob saluted then followed the others. Miranda lingered behind. She leaned into her hip and crossed her arms when alone with Shepard. “Would you like to tell me the real reason why I’m delegated to bridge duty?”

“You heard it,” he answered simply. “I need you on the Normandy, Miranda. I have to go check my suit. I’ll come find you before we leave.” He offered a small smile then left Miranda standing in the communications room, slowly simmering.

Fifteen minutes before contact, Shepard walked from the elevator towards Miranda’s office. He flicked the last few fasteners of his armor and carried the full helmet in his hands. He adjusted the visor on his head and placed the distance reader in front of his eye; he waved the helmet over the sensor for her office, opening the door.

He stepped inside, eyes instantly seeking her beyond the desk and in her private quarters. She stood at the bedside, a tablet in her hand. Her free hand buried in her hair in thought as she leaned into a hip, examining the tablet. He swallowed hard. “Miranda,” he slowly walked past her desk and into the private area.

She turned her head to meet his gaze and lowered her hand from her hair as she tossed the tablet onto the bed. “Commander.”

“Is that where we are?” Shepard asked, voice deep and gentle. “Commander? Not even Shepard?”

She paused. “I assumed this was a professional visit.”

“I’m not just here because of professional duty. You’re upset with me.” He smirked at her glare. “Which is probably an understatement. Let me explain myself to you. Will you let me do that?”

She turned to him, arms crossed over her chest defensively. “Is this because of what happened at the Eclipse base? Do you doubt me?”

“What?” Surprised by the question, he quickly shook his head. “No. No not at all. Hell, your abilities can shame me sometimes.” He approached her, standing a few feet away, close enough to see the flecks of gunmetal silver in her eyes. “I need you here because you’re my second. I need you to protect the crew. I don’t know what I’m going to find on that ship and if something happens and the Normandy and crew are in danger, I trust you to do what has to be done.”

She eyed him warily. “Do what has to be done.”

“The shuttle won’t be far from the Normandy. If it gets too hot, pull it back and get the hell outta there.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to speak. “I know we don’t want to leave anyone behind. But the lives on this ship, the rest of the crew. Miranda, you know I’m right. I wouldn’t worry about it. Takes more than a few collectors to stop me.” He joked with a smile before sobering. “If something happened and both of us were lost on that collector ship, Cerberus would be crippled and the mission over. Humanity is fucked. If I don’t make it, you still have to get back to the Illusive man and find another way to stop the Collectors.”

She inhaled slowly then exhaled; it trembled slightly. She stepped away from him. “The Illusive man said the ship is disabled. So there’s no excuse for you to be left behind. Just get in there and get out.”

“That’s the plan.” He stated, watching her. With her back to him, his eyes softened and he smiled. Her shoulders tensed in an attempt to show no uncertainty.

“Commander, ten minutes til arrival.” Joker’s voice rang through the office.

“Thanks, Joker,” Shepard responded and slowly stepped to Miranda, the only sound in the chamber his heavy boots on the metallic floor. Behind her, he slid a hand around her waist, splaying the armored palm over her stomach and pulled her back into his chest.

She didn’t fight, leaning back into him and her eyes closed for a second. “Two hours. That’s all I’m giving you before I come onto that ship and drag you off myself.” Her voice calm and controlled in its order.

He grinned at that and turned his head to nuzzle her hair. He inhaled then sighed. “Deal.” His hand tightened a moment. “I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t miss me too much,” he teased and stepped back from her. With difficulty, he turned from her and left the office. When the door closed behind him, Miranda ducked her head, shoulders slumping slightly as she regained her composure. Within seconds, she stood tall again and turned to the bed, grabbing the tablet from the mattress then strode confidently from her office.


	8. Chapter 8

 Shepard walked onto the bridge, ducking slightly too look out the front windows at the looming collector ship.

“We have a visual on the Collector ship, Commander,” Joker said to him, tinkering with the settings on his dash as he guided the Normandy closer to its destination.

“Very low emissions,” EDI continued. “Passive infrared temperatures suggest most systems are offline. Thrusters are cold.”

Shepard pulled his helmet down, attaching it to the armor. His eyes narrowed as he examined the ship through the window, scanning anything he saw.

Joker sighed, shaking his head. “That thing’s massive. How the hell did the turians take it out?” He glanced back over his shoulder at Shepard.

“I have no idea,” Shepard whispered as he leaned over Joker’s chair to look at the ship. “Get us in there, Joker. When I’m off the Normandy, Lawson has the final call. Got that?”

Joker nodded. “Aye, Commander.”

EDI stated. “Ladar scans do not detect any hull breaches on the side facing us; I detect no mass effect field distortions. It appears the drive core is offline.”

Joker swiped his fingers over the dash. “Rendezvous in thirty seconds, Commander. Good Luck.”

Shepard nodded, slapping a hand on the back of Joker’s chair as he turned from him and walked from the bridge. Miranda stepped out of the elevator as he approached it; he stopped and watched her.

Eyes exuding strength and determination, she pointed a finger at his head. “Two hours. Is that clear?”

He grinned at that. “Crystal.” Before she passed him, he reached out to stop her with his hand, his palm on her hip. “Stay frosty. Keep me updated. You’re going to be my eyes and ears for the parts of the ship I can’t physically see. Same with the rest of us on that damn thing.”

“I know,” she responded simply, eyes on his through his helmet. As she walked away, she reached out to touch his abdomen, letting her hand slide away as she continued further onto the bridge. “Joker, bring us as close as you can for the shuttle launch then pull back five thousand kilometers. It’ll be tight, but hold position there.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Joker drawled as he guided the Normandy closer. Miranda placed her hands on the console at the side of the bridge, watching the details of the ship. EDI announced the shuttle departure and Miranda closed the docking bay as the Normandy retreated to the ordered distance.

When the shuttle landed, Miranda flicked through the life signs of the crew, bringing the information out to the side allowing her to monitor their vital signs.

Mordin hummed, voice crackled slightly through the communications device. “Unusual ship design. Hard to track lines. Angles. Disturbing.”

“EDI, scans.” Miranda ordered

EDI responded. “Penetrating scans have detected an access node to uplink with Collector databases. Shepard, I have compared the ship’s EM signature to known Collector profiles. It is the vessel you encountered on Horizon.”

“Hmm,” Shepard answered. “Maybe the defense towers softened it for the turians.”

Zaeed snorted. “Still don’t like this, Shepard.”

“Best advice,” Mordin offered. “Proceed with extreme caution.”

Miranda shifted her weight as she examined the scan information coming in from EDI’s sensors. “That’s a huge coincidence. Be careful.”

“There may be colonists aboard,” Samara offered. “How long since you have been on Horizon?”

“Not long,” Miranda answered. “Less than a month.”

“A month,” Jack huffed. “They’re probably dead.”

“Not necessarily,” Mordin answered. “If they wanted them dead, they would have killed them on Horizon. They didn’t. They froze them. Captured them. Collected them. They wanted them … alive.”

“I see the pods,” Shepard stated. “But they’re empty. They’re like the ones on Horizon.”

Radio silence.

Miranda watched the life signatures of Shepard and his squad as they moved deeper through the tunnels of the Collector ship. The signatures paused. Her brow furrowed. “Shepard? What’s wrong? Dead end?”

“No,” he responded. “Just … there are bodies. Just in a pile here.”

“Bodies?” Mordin asked. “Human? Are they … intact?”

“They’re as whole as you fleshly things can be,” Grunt growled into his communication device.

“It is horrible,” Samara’s lyrical voice responded. “Injustice, the lives of innocence wasted.”

“Hmm, likely a control group. They are experimenting.” Mordin stated. “I’m coming your way, Shepard. I need to see the bodies, see what they were doing.”

Miranda interrupted. “You’re not to travel far from the shuttle. We don’t need two teams scattered. How far are the bodies from your point?”

“Uhm,” Shepard paused. “Maybe fifty meters. Your call, Lawson.”

Miranda hesitated before finally answering. “Alright. Thane, cover him. No further than that, Mordin, understood?”

“As you wish,” Thane responded.

“No further. Yes. Understood,” Mordin clipped.

Radio silence.

Miranda paced, nerves wound as she watched the various life signature blips on the map as they maneuvered through the collector ship. After a few seconds of pacing, she paused and tapped her fingers on the hull before pacing again. Shepard’s squad paused at the side of one corridor.

She tapped her communications device. “Shepard.”

“I got something. Hang on,” he said.

Miranda watched the scrolling information as his Omni-tool sent the gathered information back to the ship. “EDI, what is it?”

“Hmm, that’s a collector in that pod.” Grunt said simply.

“Would they be experimenting on their own?” Samara asked.

“EDI,” Shepard called. “I’ve uploaded the data from this terminal. See if you can figure out what they were up to.”

Miranda checked the other life signs, relieved when Mordin and Thane returned to the shuttle.

“Analyzing,” EDI stated. “The Collectors were running base line genetic comparisons between their species and humanity.”

“Are they looking for similarities?” Shepard asked.

“I have no hypothesis on their motivations.” EDI answered. “All I have are the preliminary results. They reveal something remarkable.”

Miranda turned to look curiously at the displayed hologram given to the AI.

“A quad strand genetic cluster,” continued EDI, “identical to traces collected from ancient ruins. Only one race is known to have this structure: The Protheans.”

“My God,” Shepard whispered. “The Protheans didn’t vanish. They’re just working for the Reapers now.”

“These are no longer Protheans, Shepard,” EDI said. “Their genes show distinct signs of extensive genetic rewrite. The Reapers have repurposed them to suit their needs.”

“The Reapers didn’t wipe out the Protheans,” Shepard said. “They turned them into monsters and enslaved them.”

Miranda shook her head. “They’re not doing to us what they did to the Protheans.”

“Logical, yes.” Mordin stated. “Humans are … highly resistant to many strands of diseases. Of all species … intelligent and genetically diverse … yes humans. Makes sense. The plague. On Omega. Testing resiliency.”

Shepard spoke. “Let’s find what we need before the Collectors come to salvage this vessel. Move out.”

Radio silence.

Shepard finally broke the silence. “There are pods all over this place. I … its massive. Hell, they can likely take all of earth and still have room to spare.”

“My God,” Miranda whispered. “That’s what they want. They want to turn us into more Collectors.”

“Explains why colonists.” Mordin stated. “Perfect technique. Then take everything.”

Miranda raked a hand through her hair as she watched Shepard continue his descent into the ship. EDI injected. “I detect no signs of life in the pods, Shepard. It is possible the victims inside the pods died when the ship lost primary power.”

Radio silence.

Joker shook his head. “This is really weird. Hey EDI, do you have the information about the first Normandy?”

“Yes, Mr. Moreau. It has been programmed into my system.”

He swiped his fingers over the dash. “Compare what you got from this ship to anything the original Normandy came in contact with.”

Miranda twisted at the waist to look over her shoulder at Joker. “What are you thinking?”

“That this is the same asshole that blew up my first baby.” Joker smirked as EDI displayed her results. “Commander, you gotta hear this. On a hunch, I asked EDI to run analysis on this ship.”

“I compared the EM profile against data recorded by the original Normandy,” EDI continued. “They are an exact match.”

Shepard paused before responding. “The same ship dogging me for two years? Way beyond coincidence.”

“Something doesn’t add up, Commander. Watch your back.” Joker offered.

Miranda paced, watching the console. Garrus’s voice rang over the communications system. “Joker’s right. Get the hell out of there, Shepard.”

“We’re not far from the data access,” Shepard answered.

Miranda leaned against the console. “Shepard, get out of there.” She ordered firmly.

“We’re a hundred meters away from the console. I can see the damn thing,” Shepard said. “We can’t let them target earth. We gotta get through that relay. Stay alert, everyone.”

“Damn it,” Miranda punched the table of the console and watched, helpless to stop him.

Radio Silence.

Minutes passed before Samara broke the silence. “There is the control panel.”

“Where are the Collector bodies?” Grunt observed. He cocked his shotgun.

“Shepard,” Miranda warned.

“Almost there. Hang tight. EDI, I’m setting up a bridge between you and the Collector ship. See if you can get anything useful from the databanks.”

Miranda and Joker tapped along their consoles as EDI attempted to make the link with the Collector ship. EDI stated. “Data mine in progress, Shepard.”

Joker watched the scan as the information cycled past his eyes. Miranda turned from her console to watch as well. The data scrolled then suddenly flickered and corrupted in a red light. Replacing the data, an image of a collector, its many eyes twitching, arms tucked close to its insect like body. “Uh … that can’t be good,” Joker stated.

Loud clicking and booms emitted through the device before Shepard’s voice rang through. “What the hell happened?”

“Major power surge,” Joker answered as he worked quickly to stabilize the Normandy. “Everything went dark but we’re back up now.”

Miranda sat and scanned the Normandy, noting and isolating the shorted areas from the grid of the ship. The power stabilized and EDI commented. “I managed to divert to majority of the overload to non-critical systems. Shepard, it was not a malfunction. This was a trap.”

Miranda’s stomach clenched at the word and she pressed her hand to the communication device in her ear. “Shuttle team. Status?”

“Clear here so far.” Jacob answered. “You heard EDI everyone.”

“Set up defensive barriers,” Miranda quickly commanded. “Guard the front of the shuttle. Shepard, get your ass back to that shuttle, now.”

Metallic crunching and whooshing emitted through the signal and Miranda paused, listening.

Shepard warned. “We need a little help here, EDI.”

EDI answered. “I’m having a bit of trouble maintaining connection. There is someone else in the system.”

Garrus quickly responded. “We can come for you, Shepard. Location.”

“No,” Miranda quickly answered. “We can’t all be wandering inside that ship. EDI, get into that system.”

Thirty seconds later, EDI entered the system. “Connection reestablished. I need to finish the download before I can override any systems.”

“Do it fast, EDI,” Miranda warned. “Shepard, what’s going on?”

“Hostiles,” Samara warned calmly.

Crackling resounded over the communications system before Shepard’s voice called. “Take cover!”

Live ammunition fire.

The fire fight continued and Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “Garrus, get those guns up and ready. Jacob, what the hell is going on down there?”

“We got husks. Collectors incoming. Commander, you better hurry.” Jacob answered, his voice distorted with the surrounding biotics and ammunition fire.

“EDI, Status!” Miranda barked.

“Sixty three percent complete. Data mine completion in two minutes four seconds.”

“Jacob,” Miranda ordered. “Get the shuttle up and hovering. I want an immediate extraction when Shepard arrives.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jacob responded with professional airs.

“Mordin, status.”

“Husks … under … control. First wave down. Second incoming … shortly. Regrouping.”

Miranda scanned the images mapping the surrounding area of the shuttle. “Jack, can you take out any of the surrounding stabilizing pillars. Create more cover and cut off the husks.”

“I can, but it’ll bring down part of the bay. The stuff in here is organic. It fuckin’ moves.”

Miranda silently cursed then called down to engineering. “Get ready to charge the mass effect core on my mark.”

“Will do.” Kenneth Donnelly answered from the engineering bay, his drawl strong. “Just say the word, ma’am.”

“Eighty four percent.” EDI stated.

Shepard yelled into his com through the crossfire. “EDI, get us out of here!”

“I am simultaneously fighting Collector firewalls in 8000 nodes. I am tasked to capacity.”

“Another wave,” Grunt announced. “Shepard, get down!”

An explosion.

“Shepard!” Miranda called into the device.

Weapon fire echoed through the device from all squads.

“I’m going to tear you apart, Shepard,” a stoic and deep voice announced through Shepard’s communication.

“Christ,” Shepard muttered. “I thought it was just in my head.”

“What the hell was that?” Miranda asked.

“They’re talking to me. I heard it on Horizon. They’re doing it here too.”

Miranda turned to look at EDI’s console.

80%

85%

Explosion.

Ammunition fire.

90%

95%

“Complete.” EDI announced.

The firefight finally over, Shepard reestablished EDI’s link to the command console and the AI took control. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, EDI,” Shepard said with a smile. “Did you get what we needed?”

“I found data that could help us successfully navigate the Omega 4 Relay. I have also found the turian distress call that acted as a lure for this trap. The Collectors were the source. It is unusual.”

“What are you getting at?” Shepard asked.

EDI continued. “Turian emergency channels have secondary encryption. It is present but corrupted in the message. It is not possible the Illusive Man would believe the distress call was genuine.”

“Are you sure?” Shepard pressed.

“I found the anomaly with Cerberus detection protocols.” EDI answered. “He wrote them.”

Joker frowned and looked to EDI’s console. “He knew it was a trap? Why would he send us into a trap?”

“That son of a bitch sent us right into Collector hands,” Shepard snapped.

“There has to be another explanation!” Miranda defended. “The Illusive Man wouldn’t do this to us. He … he just wouldn’t!”

Jack snarled. “I knew Cerberus would do this to us! Did you know about this, Cheerleader? I’m gonna rip you the fuck apart!”

Joker interrupted any retort. “Uh … Commander. We’ve got another problem. The Collector ship is powering up. You need to get out of there before the weapons come online. I’m not losing another Normandy.”

EDI stated. “I do not have full control of their systems. I will do what I can.”

“It’s too hot here!” Jacob called. “We’re getting swarmed. We gotta pull back.”

Miranda clenched her teeth a moment before nodding. “Do it. Get back on that shuttle. EDI, find me another extraction point. Shepard, stand by.”

“Let’s move!” Shepard commanded his team.

“Jacob, get out of there. Keep the bay of the shuttle open. Thane, Zaeed, pick them off from the ship until we get new coordinates.” Miranda ordered. “EDI!”

“New coordinates incoming, Mr. Taylor.”

“Jacob, go!” Miranda commanded. “Shepard we’re sending you the extraction coordinates. Get moving. Garrus! How are the weapons?”

“Charged and ready. Just tell me when.”

“I’m not getting into a firefight unless we have to. Standby.” She watched the map and Shepard’s small grouped team. “They’re swarming you. Trying to flank you. Shepard, move forward.”

“Can’t!” he snapped into the com. “Little busy.”

“Damn it,” she muttered. “Jacob, status.”

“Landing now.”

“Good, clear the area. Press in no farther than ten meters and hold the extraction point”

EDI directed Shepard around the blockades and the side routes from areas blocked off by the collector system. The team moved through the vessel, steady and slow. Random grunts and moans signified when firefight struck the team, though no one fell; vital signs steady.

“Fuck, I hate those things!” Shepard exclaimed. “Fucking floating legs. Take cover. Get down!”

“You’re two hundred meters from the shuttle, Shepard. Get that thing down and get to the extraction point.” Miranda growled. “EDI, ETA on their weapon recharge.”

“I can only delay them a little longer. Weapons fully recharged in five minutes sixteen seconds.”

“Shepard,” Miranda barked. “You have four and a half minutes. Get the bloody hell out of there.”

“Working on it,” he responded through clenched teeth before calling. “I’m out. Grunt take the fire, I need to find a clip.” He grunted as the sounds of a scuffle emitted through his transmitter then a sickening crunch. “Good. Reloading.”

Panicked, Miranda paced, eyes on the constantly ticking timer. “Jacob!”

“We’re ok. Got the place secure. See some husks up the way but to get them we have to leave the shuttle unsecured.”

“Thane, get them.” She commanded.

“With pleasure,” Thane husked.

“Got it!” Shepard exclaimed. “I’m out on my rifle. Switching to shotgun. Go.”

“Move it, Shepard! Three minutes!” Miranda yelled.

“Go go go,” Shepard reiterated to his team as they charged through the corridors.

“I have them in sight,” Thane stated with calm deliverance. He fired. “Shepard, caution. There are dozens of husks up on the ramp.

“I see them.” Shepard responded.

Zaeed brought up his sniper rifle, firing at the husks he could see. “There are too many. I can’t get them all. Shepard, you’re in my line of fire.”

“What the hell is going on down there?” Miranda snapped. “Two and a half minutes.”

“Too many,” Shepard stated. “I’m gonna charge ‘em. Run by me while I got them. Ready?”

“Shepard,” Samara warned.

“Go!”

“What is he …” Thane trailed off and fired. “They swarmed him. I can’t get a shot. Grunt and Samara have passed but the husks want Shepard. They ignored the others.”

Miranda’s heart clenched, stomach dropped at the realization. She instantly gathered herself and spoke. “Shepard’s their target no one else. Get him out of there.”

“I don’t think I can.” Thane answered.

Shepard yelled at the pain. “Get the fuck outta here. Go!”

Miranda swallowed hard. “Grunt? Can you get to him? Thane, don’t let them take Shepard away. They want him and they can’t have him alive. Take the shot if you have it.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” She snapped. “Shoot Shepard before they can put him into one of those bloody pods! They set the trap for him!”

“I don’t have the shot yet, I can’t see it.”

“Shepard!” Grunt roared and lowered his head, charging into the husks and knocking most of them off of the Commander with sickening force. The power of the Krogan shattered bones and scattered bodies. The extraction point erupted in blue energy as both Samara and Jack unleashed a fury of biotic attacks. Grunt crushed a husk beneath his foot before helping a wounded Shepard to his feet.

“Thane!” Miranda yelled into the com. “What’s happening? I saw the biotics surge.”

“We got Shepard. He’s alive. Walking.” Thane fired. “one hundred meters away.”

“Shepard, get your god damn ass on that shuttle. One minute.” Miranda snapped. “Donnelly! Charge the core.”

“Charging.”

Miranda turned to the AI console,” EDI prepare for possible defensive fire. Joker, you better earn your pay.” She watched the timer click down as the shuttle took off from the collector ship. She opened the docking bay, eyes on the bay’s doors. Each second slowly ticked past. “Joker, on my mark.”

The doors inched closed and finally sealed, Miranda shouted. “Now!”

Joker jerked the controls, dodging the Collector ship. The collector gun charged and Joker tugged hard at the controls. “EDI, get us outta here!”

“State your destination.”

“Anywhere but here!” Joker exclaimed.

“The Citadel!” Miranda corrected then called to the crew. “Hold on! Donnelly!”

“Core’s ready!”

“EDI!”

The collector ray skimmed the edge of the Normandy just before the Cerberus vessel launched through space and away.


	9. Chapter 9

 Shepard bolted out of the elevator on the bridge and staggered as the ship jolted when the mass effect core activated. He stumbled into the hull, jarring his shoulder. The ship stabilized in its speed, the systems adjusting cabin pressure and gravity. He reached up to grab his shoulder, already wounded from the husks on the collector ship. He winced and slowly rolled his shoulder.

Walking passed the galactic map, his eyes scanned the crew on the bridge. “Kelly, status?”

“Too soon to tell, Commander, but everything appears to be alright with the crew. No injuries reported.”

“Excellent.” He continued along the corridor to Joker and slowed his pace as his eyes focused on Miranda.

Graceful, tense and determined, she strode down the corridor to him. Her hands clenched into fists, blue energy pulsing around her. Stunning in her anger and barely controlled fury.

Shepard slowed his gait, pausing to watch her. Reaching up he pulled at the fasteners of his helmet. He hesitated as Miranda’s aura intensified and he cocked his head curiously.

Her fists tightened and she suddenly outstretched a hand towards him.

His eyes widened as a stream of blue biotic power burst from Miranda’s hand. He braced for the impact and grunted as the blast slammed into his chest, knocking him from his feet and onto the floor. He blinked, moaning and his eyes fluttered as he watched her stride past him.

Groaning, he turned onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees as she walked away from him. His teeth clenched. “She attacked me …” he whispered to himself and slammed a fist into the grating as he pushed up to his feet. He bit back the wince as his shoulder gave out under the weight, but he pushed through the pain and stood. He followed her, his armored boots hard on the grating as he quickened his pace to reach the elevator.

Miranda stepped into the elevator, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes angered and fueled with a contained passion, she waved her hand over the sensor in the elevator to send the car to the third deck. As Shepard neared, she lifted her chin and glared at him, defiant. The door slowly closed.

Shepard reached the door in time and he hopped into the car with her. His jaw clenched when she tensed; the elevator door finally closed and the cart descended. With a growl, he turned to the console and punched. His omni-tool sprang to life, shorting the console with a few sparks and stopping the elevator in its place between decks.

“Brilliant,” Miranda motioned to the console with a hand. “As if the ship wasn’t damaged enough.”

Shepard pointed to the door of the elevator, holding back the wince from extending his sore shoulder. “Would you care to tell me what the hell that was all about?” He pulled the helmet off his head and threw it to the floor to better see her.

“You deserved it,” she snapped.

“For what! God, woman, I come back up here and expect you to be happy to see me alive and ok and instead I get some kind of shockwave to the chest.”

“For being a stubborn ass,” she growled back at him. Her blue eyes fierce, sapphire as she maintained a thin veil of control over her powers. “We give you multiple warnings to get out of there. That it’s a trap, something didn’t feel right and instead you plow forward anyway and nearly get yourself and half of your squad killed in the process.”

“We needed that intel.” Shepard responded harshly. “And with only a hundred meters to the console, I had to take that risk. Without the information, we wouldn’t be able to jump the relay and get to the Collectors where it’ll hurt the most.”

“At what cost?” She tossed back. “When were you planning on telling us the Collectors were saying your name back on Horizon?”

“I thought I was hearing things! Why the hell would I think they were actually targeting me?”

“Who knows?” She exclaimed. “That was not something to be explored inside that bloody ship. And then during extraction, when you knew that they’re targeting you, you charge into a swarm of husks and sacrifice yourself. How many were there? Hmm?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know … ten. Maybe fifteen. That’s not the point!” He cut her off with a wave of his hand when she opened her mouth to retort. “The point is that I got my team out of there. Grunt and Samara passed them.”

“Sometimes … you … you’re just so bloody … “

“So damn what? Huh?” He challenged. “Stupid alliance spacer kid. Go ahead. Call me stupid. It’s on the tip of your forked tongue.”

“Careless!” She snapped. “Even knowing it was a trap?”

“Did you know it was a trap?”

She paused a moment, eyes narrowing as her hands pulsed in power. “What?” Voice deep and dangerous.

“You heard me. Your Illusive man knew it was a trap. Can’t imagine he didn’t tell his little pet.” Shepard snarled and unafraid, stepped closer to her.

“You son of a bitch,” she whispered and though her expression remained hardened and stoic, her eyes flickered at the pain of his accusation. She lifted her hand, the blue aura magnified as if to strike out with her powers.

He closed the remaining distance between them, grabbing her wrist with his armored hand and slammed it against the wall, effectively pinning her there with his body, the pressure heavy from his armor.

She struggled against him, trying to jerk her hand away but he simply tightened his hold. “God damn you.” She croaked and shook her head, demeanor slowly cracking as her eyes dampened. “I didn’t know. I still can’t believe he would do that. I can’t.”

“You ordered a kill shot on me.”

“I had to!” She defended, voice sharp and she glared, accusatory. “I couldn’t let them take you alive. They … they wanted you and I just couldn’t …”

He captured her lips, effectively cutting off any other words she would mutter. Pressing closer to her, his head tilted. She resisted him a fraction of a second before she hungrily responded to his kiss. Her free hand gripped his arm and clung to the armor as she returned his kiss in desperation. His mouth sealed to hers again then again and he finally released her wrist to splay his hands on her sides then glide them over her back.

Freed, her hand cupped his jaw before sliding around to the back of his head, fingers tapping along the circular metal of his visor. She growled in frustration, the hand on his jaw pushing at the mouthpiece of his visor to give her easier access to his mouth.

He answered the request, hands abandoning her and he broke the kiss a moment to tear the visor from his head. He kissed her again before her thoughts ended the intoxicating embrace and he dropped the visor to the floor with a clang. His tongue flicked at her lips and he growled when her lips parted. He deepened the kiss, tugging off his armored gloves then splaying bared palms on her back.

She gasped softly as his bare hands stroked down her back then up again, holding her firmly to his body. She matched his passion, her tongue eager for his in the explosive relief of his return. The hand on his jaw slid around behind his neck then slipped beneath the collar of his armor to fist his shirt.

He pinned her firmly to the wall of the elevator as he lost himself in the embrace. Finally, breathless, he slowed the kiss, trailing his mouth along her jaw to her throat in exploration. Her head tilted back as she sighed. Exhilarated at her reaction, he brushed his lips back along her jaw to her mouth, slow and deliberate in his teasing. He refused to release her then kissed her mouth slowly, seductively.

Her fist tightened on his shirt as her other hand slid up his arm to his jaw. She eased him back from the kiss, dazed and lost in the aftermath. Her hand abandoned his jaw to touch his chest and push slightly, her head ducked in uncertainty.

“Don’t,” he husked and held her close before pressing his forehead to hers, nuzzling her. Eyes closed, he panted softly on her mouth.

She released a shaky sigh, refusing to look up in a vain attempt to gain control. “Why?” she whispered.

He enjoyed the sensation of her close and pressed gently with his hand on the small of her back to keep her near. “Why what?”

“Why would you put me in that position?” She questioned, any anger dissipated from her voice instead only confusion and hurt. “You forced me into a position where not only did I have to consider leaving you behind …” she pulled back just slightly from him to look up into his eyes. “But to kill you.”

“Because I knew you could.”

She shook her head and released him to push at his chest. When he stepped back, she ducked under his arm to walk to the other side of the elevator, defensive.

“Miranda …” he turned as she walked, eyes following her before his feet moved as well and he neared her again. He obeyed her request for space when she lifted a dismissive hand at him then brought that hand to her head, fingers grazing her forehead as she closed her eyes.

He allowed her the moment to gather herself before stepping closer. “What it means is that you are the only person on this ship that I know will make the best decision for the mission.” He rubbed his thumb over her palm. “I know I wouldn’t.”

Glancing up at him, eyes narrowed she shook her head. “That’s not true. You just talked about one hundred meters and …”

“Not that,” he grinned. “I mean when it comes to my team. You.” He sobered and tilted his head to better see her face. “Miranda, I … I could never have made the call you did. The right call. It was the right call. And I never could have made it. If it were you, swarmed by husks and I was here … hell, I probably would have found a way onto that collector ship and followed you back into hell and get us both and everyone else killed.”

“You wouldn’t,”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I would. I’d throw away this whole damn ship if it’s what I had to do to pull you outta the belly of that beast. You wouldn’t be so irrational.” He shrugged and offered a playful smile. “Some might call it romantic.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Foolish is more accurate.”

“Maybe a little,” his grin broadened at that. “But you’re worth it.”

She sniffed and lifted her head to look at him, inspecting his armor as she slowly ran her hand over his armor in inspection. “I’m sure you took some shots in there. Are you wounded?”

He watched her intensely, noting her deflection of the intimacy at his words; he humored her. “I don’t think so. My shoulder’s sore but … it was just jarred”

“You should have Doctor Chakwas check it.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” he teased.

“Yes … no … maybe …” she sighed. “Look, I … I need … you should go get out of your armor and see the doctor.” She reached past him to the console and pressed a few buttons, reactivating the car as it continued on its way to the third floor.

“Miranda, we need to talk.” He stated simply. “I’ll come by later, ok?”

She nodded and cleared her throat, straightening her uniform as she stood in front of the door.

“I don’t think you betrayed me.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things. It was cruel and I didn’t mean them.”

“If they’re said, they’re meant.” She replied softly. “Even subconsciously.”

He reached out to touch her hip. She tensed; he didn’t let go. “Maybe a moment but … the panic in your voice the seconds after, the uncertainty. I think that if you knew, you’d have told me. Knowing we’d still go in there anyway.” He stroked a thumb over her hip. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, even for a moment. It was just anger and … worry. That we wouldn’t get out of that alive.”

“You don’t have to say anything to make me feel better. I understand, Shepard.” She responded coolly.

He stepped closer to her. “I think we both have a lot of questions for the Illusive man. We’ll get them answered.”

She stepped away from him when the door opened. “I … need to go check on the status of the Normandy. I … I’ll talk to you later.” Without a backwards glance, she quickly exited the elevator.

He remained in the elevator after she left then pushed the necessary buttons for the captain’s quarters.

+++

Shepard sat shirtless in the medical bay as Doctor Chakwas examined his shoulder. “It was dislocated but it seems you’ve popped it correctly back into place.” She tested the joint, guiding his arm to move in a circular motion.

He winced at the movements and leaned away from the pressure.

“Still tender, I see.” Chakwas stated. “I’m going to wrap it tightly, stabilize it. It should be alright in a few days.”

“Yeah, I know the drill. Try not to reinjure it, no heavy lifting.”

The doctor chuckled. “Yes, and come back in a few days. We’ll rescan to see if the muscles healed.”

Through the windows of the medical bay, brilliant blue light flickered from the mess hall. Shepard furrowed his brow. “What the …”

The doctor slowly wrapped the Commander’s shoulder with a flexible breathable fabric then tucked and tied off the end. Firmly supportive, the bandage effectively stabilized his shoulder, limiting movement. The blue light exploded outside the medical bay again.

Shepard stood, struggling to pull on his shirt; the doctor helped him. “I’ve got to get out there.” He rolled his shoulder a little and winced then shifted until the muscles settled, painless. He stepped out of the medical bay and his eyes widened, instantly ducking his head as a tray flew towards him then crashed into the medical bay door at his back.

Jack and Miranda stood opposite each other in the Mess hall, both women glowing with biotic energy, Jack’s far brighter than Miranda. Jack snarled, eyes narrowed in fury as she waved her hand over the nearest stool. The biotics popped the bolts from the grating as the stool lifted. “Lying … Cerberus … bitch!” She extended her hand, firing the stool towards Miranda.

Miranda took a step back, bracing her stance as she focused on the stool and stretched out her own hand. She pivoted at the waist as she sidestepped the stool, deflecting it past her with a casual flick of the wrist. “I’m not lying! I didn’t know anything about the Collector ship. But I’m certainly not surprised you don’t see reason. After all, you’re always storming around here like some kind of victim.”

Jack stepped closer, pointing an accusatory finger at Miranda. “Fuck you, whore. Just because you spread your legs for the Illusive man every time he snaps doesn’t mean we all like to be fucked by Cerberus.”

Miranda’s teeth clenched and blue energy burst from her, charging in her anger. With a cry of fury, she extended her hand towards Jack, a wave of biotic energy firing towards the other woman.

Jack reached out, easily absorbing the biotic energy then reflecting it back at Miranda. Jack quickly reached towards the bench and using all of her energy, popped the bolts and lifted the metallic bench into the air. Thrusting her hands, she threw the bench at Miranda.

“Hey!” Shepard called and stormed further into the mess hall.

The Cerberus officer stepped back, bracing herself as she reached out to the bench, deflecting it.

“What the hell is …” Shepard trailed off as the bench flew in his direction. He ducked, turning to shield his head with his good arm as the bench slammed into his body, knocking him to the floor. He cried out as he landed awkwardly on his wounded shoulder and skidded ten feet before finally coming to a halt, the bench strewn over his back.

Both women froze. “Shepard,” Miranda whispered and quickly strode to his side, waving a hand over him as her biotics instantly picked up and effortlessly tossed the bench from his back. Jack stepped backwards, fury and anger replaced with guilt and worry. Her eyes widened and she quickly looked away. Her biotics faded in the aftermath of the fight and she dared to take a single step towards Shepard. Shaking her head, she spun on her heels and quickly retreated, returning to her darkened corner in the belly of the engine room.

Miranda knelt at Shepard’s side, reaching out with a hand to touch his back. “Shepard?”

“I’m fine,” he croaked, eyes closed and teeth clenched as his shoulder throbbed.

Miranda scanned his back then tilted her head to look at his brow, searching for blood. “What the hell were you doing?”

“I’m not letting my crew tear each other apart,” he snapped and pressed his good hand into the grating, pushing up onto his knees. He kept the wounded shoulder still and held that arm to his stomach.

Doctor Chakwas rushed from the medical bay and reached out to assist Shepard. “Come back. We have to check that.”

“I’m fine.”

Chakwas sighed and shook her head. “Stubborn.” Sliding her hands around the wounded shoulder, she felt the joint. “You’re lucky I have field experience you know,” she chided with a smile. “Otherwise you’d be lying on that table for two hours while the scanners checked every cellular layer.”

Shepard forced a smile through the pain. “It’s why I keep you around.”

Chakwas focused on Shepard’s shoulder, examining the muscle and joint through his tight shirt as she pressed her fingers into the muscles then along a slightly bulging point towards the back. “Still hurts?”

“Like a bitch.”

“It’s still in the socket.” She said then quickly yanked on his arm, popping the shoulder back in. “Now.”

Shepard grunted, head tilting back at the pain as white flashed before his eyes and he dropped to a single knee. Miranda slipped quickly to his side, running a hand around his waist to keep him steady. She pulled him back to his feet. Shepard groaned. “You could have warned me.”

“It’s easier when it’s fast.” Chakwas responded simply. “No field work for at least a week. Doctor’s orders. Your shoulder needs to heal and if you pop it out again, you can tear the muscles even worse. Then you’re out for longer.”

“I’ve got the cybernetics.” Shepard stated through a wince as Chakwas continued feeling his shoulder. “I heal fast.”

“Yes, faster than most humans. But you still need time. And the technology we have on this ship can only do so much to heal you. You’re different, Commander.”

“Different?”

Chakwas looked to Miranda then back at Shepard. “I don’t know everything they did to you to bring you back, but you don’t heal like a normal human. The technology doesn’t work the same on you. Sometimes it doesn’t work at all and you have to regenerate on your own. I’m still trying to study everything and there isn’t much I can do without the files from the Lazarus project.”

Shepard turned to Miranda. “Can you get it for her? The files?”

Miranda crossed her arms over her chest as she staggered her feet, casually. “I don’t know. The information isn’t easily accessed.”

“Get it to her.” He said firmly, eyes intense on Miranda. “I think I deserve to know what the hell you did to me.”

She hesitated then nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Pleased with the response, Shepard turned his head towards Chakwas and nodded his thanks. The Doctor inclined her head in respect. “Commander,” then returned to the medical bay.

“Are you hurt?” blinking, Shepard eyed Miranda then reached up with his good hand to pick a piece of protein bar from her hair. He fought the smirk tugging at his lips.

She quickly reached up, running a hand through her hair to feel for any other debris. “I’m fine. What happened to your shoulder? You dislocated it?”

He stepped closer. “On the collector ship. I popped it back in on the ship. It’s alright.”

“But you …” she searched his eyes then stepped back from him as guilt flickered behind her usually steely gaze. “Did I hurt you?”

His lips quirked with his smirk. “Concerned, Ms. Lawson?”

“I’m serious.” She snapped, glaring. “I didn’t … I mean you were hurt.”

“Well, you didn’t really bother to ask before you attacked me on the bridge.” He responded lightly. “Worth it.” His voice deepened as he brazenly stared at her mouth.”

Subconsciously, she licked her lips. When he dared to step closer, she reached up quickly to press her hand into his chest, keeping him back. “There’s a lot to do, Commander,” she said dismissively. “I’ll have a report within the hour on the necessary Normandy repairs.”

“Alright. Are you sure you’re alright? You’re not hurt?” He inquired softly.

“I’m fine, Commander,” she deflected. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

She retreated from him, returning to her office. Shepard sighed and winced, reaching up to hold his shoulder. “Hawthorne,” he called to the crewman across the bay. “Get the bench and stool bolted back to the ship.”

Hawthorne saluted, moving quickly. “Yes, sir.”

Leaving the crew quarters, Shepard took the elevator to the lowest deck of the ship in search of Jack. The air warmed slightly beneath the engineering room from its proximity to the mass effect core. His shoulder still sore, he held the arm close to his chest, moving it as little as possible.

Jack crouched on a metallic table under a series of red lights, staring absently into the depths of the ship. She shifted her weight but remained in her position a long moment before bracing her hand on the table and leaping off. She turned to face him and inspected him casually. “What do you want?”

“Just here to talk,” he answered smoothly and leaned against the hull of the ship with his uninjured arm. “Care to tell me what that was about up there?”

“What’s to explain?” She challenged. “I confronted the bitch.”

“About what? I know you two aren’t friends and I’m not here to change that. But I can’t have my crew tearing each other apart and breaching the hull.”

Jack squared her shoulders, expression violently snarled as she pointed at Shepard. “She’s Cerberus. And she’s the Illusive Man’s whore. So don’t try to tell me she didn’t know it was a trap because you know its bullshit.”

“I don’t know anything yet,” Shepard answered with a simple shrug. “And I won’t make any hasty judgments. Miranda has never given me a reason to doubt her before. I can’t do it now because her boss is an asshole.”

“Hah,” Jack flicked her wrist, waving off the comment as she paced to her cot and sat. “Just because she makes you hard, Shepard, doesn’t mean she’s not a back stabbing bitch. She’s Cerberus. And I know firsthand what Cerberus is capable of. Your little cheerleader is just way to gung ho about them to be innocent of the shit they pull.” Resting a forearm on her thigh, she leaned forward. “So fuck her and get it out of your system then open your eyes to what she’s actually doing. And if you’re not going to kick her off this ship, I’ll do it for you.”

“Nobody is kicking anybody off this ship. I need her here just like I need you here.” He responded with calm ease. “When EDI said it was all a trap and the Illusive Man would have known, Miranda sounded too shocked and betrayed to have known otherwise.”

“So maybe she can act.”

“Or maybe, she really didn’t know.” Shepard eased off the wall and crossed his arms. “Look, let me get to the bottom of this.”

Jack hesitated as she held Shepard’s gaze before finally relenting. “Alright, and if she is a back stabbing bitch?”

“Then she’s gone. I can’t have someone on my team that I don’t trust. So can I trust you?”

Jack weighed her options as she searched Shepard’s expression. “Keep her away from me.”

“You’re going to have to work together eventually. But for now, stay on separate decks.”

“Just keep her out of my way,” Jack leaned back against the hull, closed her eyes and crossed her arms, effectively ending the conversation.

Shepard left the engineering deck and rode the elevator back up to the crew’s quarters. He refused to accept the possibility that Miranda knew about the trap especially after helping her with Oriana, gaining her trust and her gratitude. He waved his good hand over the sensor to her office and stepped inside.

Miranda sat at her desk, expression serious as she tapped delicate fingers over the tablet on her desk, sorting through the information at her terminal. “Commander,” she greeted professionally.

“Do you have a minute, Miranda?”

“There’s a lot to do, Commander. Maybe another time.”

“No, not another time.” He tapped two buttons on the door, locking it then approached her desk. Pressing his hands into the desk, he leaned forward, biting back the wince of the pressure on his shoulder. He arched a brow, expectantly.

She continued her work despite his presence. “I have to do a full scan of the Normandy before we get to the Citadel so we know what we need.”

“And you said it would take you an hour to compile it. We have nearly ten until we reach the Citadel. We have time. Set the scan to run, and then we can talk.”

She held his eyes with challenging stare before tapping a few buttons on her console to run the scan. She clasped her hands together, resting them on her desk. “Alright, then. Talk.”

“I want to talk about Jack.”

Defensive, her eyes narrowed slightly. “What about Jack?”

“Care to tell me what the hell happened out there?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” she threw back at him and stood with a wave of her hand. She turned her back to Shepard and walked into her private quarters.

“Because I’m asking you,” he responded simply and followed her.

Miranda shrugged casually, sitting on the couch and twisted at the waist to face him, resting an arm over the back of the couch as she crossed her legs. “I have no idea. I was checking on the crew and she came up and started accusing me of sending her on a death sentence. It just escalated from there.”

Shepard sat at the opposite end of the couch, careful not to move his shoulder. “Who attacked first?”

“She did. I knew she was there by her colorful greeting and a tray whizzing past my head. I won’t lie to you, I attacked her as well. Just not first.”

He nodded in understanding. “I see. So what do you think?” He leaned forward in interest.

“What do I think?” Her brow arched, surprised at the question. “Of what?”

“Jack. On the squad.”

“I think she’s an entirely unstable individual who can snap at any given moment and lash out against friend or foe,” Miranda answered easily. “But she is a powerful biotic. And if she can be controlled, she’s a useful ally.”

He smirked. “You’re honest. I like that.”

“Why would I be dishonest? But just because I understand why you have her here doesn’t mean I like it or will tolerate her.” Her voice deepened and sharpened in intensity. “Keep her away from me, Shepard, or I’ll split her in half.”

“For now,” he conceded. “Stay a deck apart. But in the future, we’re all going to have to fight together and have each other’s backs. If we want to survive, it’s a must.”

“I can do my job, Commander. It’s that feral dog you have to keep on a leash.”

“That’s not fair, Miranda, she’s had it rough.”

Miranda glared. “She’s had it rough? Enough of us have … ‘had it rough’ … in our lives but that doesn’t mean we parade around like some victimized child.” She stood and stalked away from him to the window. “There comes a time you just have to suck it up and grow up or move on. You can stew all you want in private. But you don’t wear it on your sleeve.”

“I know,” Shepard stood slowly. “But she’s young. Mentally. Almost childlike. She never had the opportunity or the role model to show her how to cope. I can’t blame her for feeling the way she does.”

Miranda crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she stared intensely out the window.

“I heard what you both send to each other. You were both out of line.”

“I was speaking the truth!” Miranda snapped back over her shoulder then huffed and looked back to the window. “Not that it matters. I know what’s said.” She uncrossed her arms. “I’m not a stranger to rumors. Look, I have a lot of work to do.” She stepped away from the window to return to her desk.

“Yeah, me too. But we’re not done yet.” He reached out with a hand, blocking her retreat.

Miranda sighed and raked a hand through her hair, obviously frustrated. “What else is there to say? I’m not going to blow her out the airlock. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s a start,” he responded with a boyish grin. “I was also kind of hoping for a ‘I’m sorry I threw a bench at you, John. Here’s a nice long kiss to make it feel better.’”

She crossed her arms, biting back the smile at his words and leaned into her hip. “Jack threw the bench; I just deflected it.”

“At me?” He teased and stepped closer.

“Well if I knew you were there, I wouldn’t have deflected it that way.” Any humor in her voice quickly vanished when she reached out to gently touch his wounded shoulder. “You’ve dislocated it twice in a matter of hours.”

“It’s alright though. I just have to take it easy a couple of days.”

“I … I’m sorry that I attacked you on the bridge. I was just … angry and frustrated and relieved.”

He smirked. “You have an interesting way of showing relief.”

She shook her head, a soft smile tugging her lips as she gently shoved at his uninjured shoulder. “Ass,” she whispered almost affectionately.

Keeping his wounded arm still, he used his good hand to slide around her waist. “So … does this mean I’m going to get a kiss?”

“I don’t know,” she teased.

“I’ll make it worth your while.” He coaxed and tugged her closer. “I hear I’m very good at it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Her hand abandoned his shoulder to cup his jaw and she leaned closer, taking the initiative to kiss his mouth softly once then again before slipping her arms around his neck in a hug. Caving to the sensation, she ducked her head into his shoulder a moment before admitting. “I thought the husks would get you. I … I ordered a kill shot.”

He pursed his lips to return her two sweet kisses then tightened his arm at her hug and nuzzled her throat. “Takes more than a few husks to kill me. Grunt charged in and got me outta there. I’m alright.” He brushed his lips along her jaw to her ear. “That worried, Ms. Lawson.”

She swallowed hard and eased him back, avoiding his eyes as she focused on his shoulder. “You’re … you’re an expensive investment and irreplaceable. We can’t succeed without you. You’re too important.”

“Is that all I am? An investment? A weapon?”

Defensively, she stepped back. “No … well yes but not like … You are an investment and a weapon but …” she sighed, frustrated.

“Is that all I am?” he repeated slowly, stepping towards her. As she slowly backed away, he prowled closer refusing her subconscious need for space. “Miranda? You attacked me because you were worried you lost a weapon?”

She braced her back foot and refused to continue backing away as she met his gaze. “No. Well … yes but because you’re … Look, Shepard …” She closed her eyes then reached up to touch her brow. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were chosen by Cerberus for this mission because you are the only one who can do it. The fate of humanity rests on your shoulders. It’s why you were brought back to life.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he responded deeply, eyes piercing. “I know what I am to Cerberus. And to the Alliance. I’m asking you what I am to you.”

“That doesn’t matter.” She answered, eyes darting to the door in search of escape. “The mission is too important to …”

He interrupted her, his good hand gripping her hip to pull her against him and his lips pressed to hers.

She shivered in his arms, returning his kiss for only a second before she shook her head and stepped back, trapping herself against the wall. “We can’t. It’s …”

His hand tightened on her hip and he pinned her to the wall, kissing her slowly again, taunting and teasing. She matched his kiss; he tasted the desire. His stomach clenched when she pressed against him and slid a hand around the back of his neck.

“Shepard …” She pressed one hand against his chest, the other still on the back of his head as she mustered the last of her resistance.

He silenced her again with another soft kiss and his mind reveled in the primal victory at her soft moan. Her fingers tickled his hairline at his neck before cupping his jaw and easing him back. He refused to retreat and extended the kiss a few more seconds before finally letting her lips slip from his.

She sighed softly, eyes closed as she traced her fingers from his jaw down to his chest. “Ok,” a slow smile tugged at her lips. “Ok, Shepard. But … let’s just focus now.”

He grinned. “Alright.”

She pushed at his chest, stepping around him.

“Not yet,” he teased and tightened his hand on her waist before reaching up with the other hand. He hissed. “Ah … shit.”

Miranda frowned and quickly took his hand, slowly lowering it. “Careful. Did Doctor Chakwas give you something for the pain?”

“I don’t know.”

She hesitated, searching his pained expression before touching his shoulder. “I can help. Just sit on the couch and take off your shirt. I’ll be back.”

“Mmm, I like how this sounds.” He hummed with a smile though his eyes remained closed as he fought through the pain. He finally backed away from her and turned towards the couch, reaching up to hold his sore shoulder. He sat, tugging his shirt from its place tucked into his pants as he watched her leave the private area for her office. “Where are you going?”

“To the medical bay. I’ll be right back.” Without a backwards glance, she left him alone.

He closed his eyes, releasing a shaky sigh as he held his sore shoulder. Tugging on his shirt, he attempted to pull it up over his head. The movement pulled at his shoulder and he gasped, quickly giving up. Muttering a few choice curses, he pulled the sleeve of the shirt on his wounded shoulder then lifted the shirt from his waist under his good arm.

Frustrated, he reached behind his head to grip his shirt and try to tug it up over his head. He fisted the shirt and ducked his chin into his chest as he scrunched the shirt behind his neck then pulled it over his head. His injured arm motionless, he craned his neck as he tried to pull the shirt over his head, unsuccessfully; his head stuck, unable to pull the shirt fully clear over his neck.

“Fuckin’ piece a …” he muttered and twisted slightly but with his bandaged shoulder and the tight shirt, little fabric gave way and he effectively trapped himself.

“What are you doing?”

He grunted at the amused tone in Miranda’s voice as he raked his good hand along his head to push the shirt back the opposite way; the shirt refused to move. “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Embarrassed, he jerked at the shirt. His body tensed at the pressure on his shoulder and he froze.

“Easy,” she said softly and he calmed when he felt the cushion beside him sink and her chilled hands touched his shoulder. She slipped a hand up the back of his neck to peel the collar of his shirt over the top of his head and freed him. Wordlessly, she held the shirt so he could pull out his good arm before easing the shirt off of his wounded shoulder.

On the small table beside the couch rested an injection kit, a clean bandage and an unmarked tube, the end rolled slightly to keep its contents towards the nozzle. “What’s that?”

She peeled the bandage off his shoulder, careful as she exposed the bruised and swollen joint. Tossing the bandage onto the table, she picked up the injection kit. “Anti-inflammatory.” She responded simply and held the injection tip to his neck. He trustingly tilted his head as she triggered the injection. He felt the pin pricking of the needle as the medication shot into his system.

She placed the empty injector onto the table before picking up the used bandage and dabbing at the droplet of blood oozing from his injection point.

He eyed the mysterious tube on the table.

“Do you trust me?”

“Hmm,” he glanced to her, a bit confused. “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Because what I’m going to do to you isn’t … well it’s not a standard medical procedure.” She reached for the tube, unscrewing the cap then squirting some of the clear gel onto her palm.

He eyed her suspiciously. “And what does that mean?”

“Just trust me, Shepard. Close your eyes.” She rubbed her hands together, lathering her palms with the gel.

A slow grin stretched onto his face. “I think I like where this is going.” He closed his eyes.

“You may. It’s going to hurt like bloody hell at first.”

He settled back against the couch and sighed softly, eyes closed and trusting. Soft and chilled hands touched his shoulder, slickened with the gel. Stilled, her hands rested, testing with the slightest pressure as a cool icy sensation penetrated his skin and into the sore and inflamed muscles. The chill pulsed gently as icy tendrils traced the internal muscles. Pain subsided from the cold effects; he moaned softly in relief.

The cold meandering fingers within his muscles stilled then suddenly clenched. His eyes flew open at the pain and his body tensed, lips parting in his panged moan. His head lulled to the side towards Miranda, expression confused and hurt as he reached over with his good hand to touch her.

“Don’t,” she warned, eyes closed and head ducked as she felt him shift. She pulsed with her blue biotic energy, hands glowing. “I’m sorry. It won’t last long.”

His teeth clenched and he fisted his good hand, slamming it into the cushion at his side as he pressed the back of his head into the cushion of the couch. He squeezed his eyes closed as the cold fingers burned into his muscles as if tearing them in half. Seconds later, the pain subsided as his muscles ceased resisting.

His body relaxed and relief replaced the tearing. His eyes fluttered open as the slender fingers of her biotic energy melded with the nerves and tissue of his shoulder, massaging deeply to free the strain and pain of his injury. “Miranda …” he moaned and his stomach lurched as his entire body reacted to her ministrations, all his muscles responding to her, relaxing, nerves firing then trembling.

“I know,” She whispered and looked up. Her eyes opened though they held no focus, staring blankly as she concentrated on the biotic deep tissue massage. Her sapphire eyes blazed a brilliant icy blue, nearly white in the intensity of her work, her biotics infusing every cellular layer.

The gel on her hands tingled, a conductor magnifying the effects of her touch. Her palms pressed firmly and her wrists twisted slightly. The movement both physically and biotically manipulated his muscles. The icy sensation slowly warmed, replaced with a calming heat. The heat permeated his core, traveling through his wounded muscles to the rest of his body, surging as his nerves and muscles trembled in activation.

Any pain leeched from his shoulder replaced with a weakened and fluidic sensation. He hummed her name again and reached up with his good hand to brush his fingers over her cheek.

She smiled but her eyes never changed focus. Instead they darted back then forth, mimicking a REM level of sleep. “Don’t distract me, Shepard,” she chided gently.

Smirking, he groaned. “Please tell me you can do that with other parts of your body.”

Her smile broadened. “Wouldn’t you love to know? Now stop moving. I have to be careful.” Her smile faded, her expression serious again.

He sighed as the warmth triggered his muscles of his shoulder forcing them to tremble and twitch in response as if she tickled their nerve endings to force the reaction. Her hands continued their slow movement, one closer to his chest, the other on his back and she focused on the muscles around his shoulder for a few minutes.

Shepard closed his eyes, humming softly at random intervals at the pleasure and relief brought by her gifts. The sensations oddly familiar yet his mind recollected no other time when he experienced something so entirely sensual, relaxing and satisfying. Her hands slipped under his arms to ease the tender muscles before moving back up to his shoulder.

She began the process again, slow and deliberate in her manipulation of his every muscle, every nerve. Overwhelmed with the intimate sensations, he hummed and forced his eyes to open. The lids refused to lift as she soothed every pain and every stress. Unable to resist, his exhaustion capitalized.

He fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Shepard stirred, his body shifting slowly in the realm of half sleep. In the distance, a familiar feminine voice broke through the haze of exhaustion, though its tone hushed in an attempt to be forceful yet quiet. “I’ve just submitted my report. We are heading to the Citadel now. The Normandy is in need of repairs and …”

The sound of a hissed exhale. “And where is Shepard? We received the information from EDI about the collector ship three hours ago. I’ve been calling him for the last forty minutes.”

Shepard slowly licked his lips, eyes fluttering open. Still tired but thoroughly relaxed, he blinked a few times before opening his eyes. Haunting shadows dominated the room, compounded by the dimmed lighting, lower than usual as if turned low purposefully. He sat on the couch, legs spread and pillows pressed to his side assisting in comfort. The pain in his shoulder had diminished to a throbbing ache.

“He is sleeping,” Miranda responded firmly yet quietly. “He has been running on near exhaustion. I will wake him in three hours, before we get to the Citadel. But he has been wounded and needs time to recover.”

“Fine, but I will need to brief him before the Citadel.” Illusive man stated flatly then paused. “Where is Commander Shepard? He’s not in his quarters.”

“He’s here, sleeping in the other room,” Miranda answered without shame.

“I see. Miranda, I trust that we won’t be having a problem?”

“Problem, sir?”

“Yes … a problem.” A hissed exhale. “A situation.”

“There is no problem.” Miranda stated with firm conviction. “I promise you that.”

“Good. I understand Commander Shepard … the Lazarus project is your … well, let’s just say you’ve devoted a lot of time and energy. And you’ve done a remarkable job. But if you can’t see this through, we can have you reassigned.”

“With all due respect sir, there is no problem. This is my assignment, and I will see it through.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” The Illusive man replied. “Nothing is to interfere with the mission. Nothing. The human race depends on Commander Shepard’s success. The Reapers must be stopped … at all … costs.”

“I understand.”

“I will contact you in three hours. I expect Shepard in the communications room.”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“The collector ship. Did you know that the distress call …”

“Yes.” The Illusive man responded then disconnected the communication.

Miranda sighed. After a minute of silence, her chair moved slightly at her desk before her heels clicked softly along the floor as she walked into the private chambers.

Following her with his eyes, Shepard remained still when she crossed the room to stand at the foot of the bed. Her usual stoic and almost cold expression fell away as she stared at the sheets. Sighing, she leaned into her hip and raked a hand through her hair, burying it in the thick locks. He caught her engaging in the nervous habit on many occasions when she thought no one looked or when caught off guard. Her hand abandoned her hair to smooth over the bed even though not a single wrinkle disrupted the sheets.

“So …” Shepard drawled, interrupting her quiet thoughts.

Miranda glanced quickly to her side, surprised but not startled at his voice though her muscles tensed as if in preparation – a soldier’s response. She calmed a second later but her controlled mask slipped back into place.

“What’s it going to take to negate just about everything that asshole insinuated?”

“How long have you been up?” She deflected and turned to face him, silhouetted by the shadows.

“Long enough.”

“How do you feel?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips; he resisted the urge to let it spread. “Like my arms and legs are packets of medi-gel. But otherwise, fantastic.”

“That’s normal. It takes a couple of hours for the muscles to return to full use.” She approached the couch, heels clicking and sat beside him. She reached for the clean bandage on the table.

He inhaled slowly and exhaled in relaxation, enjoying the slight lingering scent of her soap. Natural, clean and otherwise unscented, she used the standard soldier’s soap distributed to every grunt at a barracks. No perfume; she didn’t need it. He understood. A soldier never wore a scent; it gave away a position or risked detection. By the time an enemy smelled soap, it was too late.

Something else lingered around her. He sensed it on the few occasions she pressed close to him, sometimes in intimacy and sometimes because they took the same cover during battle. The air around her crackled with life, perhaps power. He couldn’t place the words to describe it. She emanated energy, calm and almost cool control. In a strange clash of sensations, it both quieted and fired his senses, confusing and invigorating.

She fascinated him.

Miranda pressed one end of the bandage to his shoulder as she wrapped the fabric tightly around the joint, crossed his chest under the opposite arm and around to assist in support. “It’s not as good as Doctor Chakwas can do, but it will suffice until you see her again.”

“Feels just fine to me.”

She stood, pacing away from him to stand by the window. Lost for words, she stood with her back to him, arms crossed.

“You do that a lot.”

“What?”

Shepard extended his leg to stretch the muscle of one leg then the other. “Cross your arms. Defensive.”

“I’m not defensive.” She slowly uncrossed her arms, attempting for the action to appear casual and natural, not a reaction to his statement.

He chuckled softly and struggled to stand. His muscles resisted the movement at first before stabilizing. He walked towards her, injured arm close to his chest. Her shoulders tensed as he approached, pinched back. He paused a few feet from her, noting when she forced herself to relax. “You’re on edge.”

“There’s a lot to do. I’m just thinking.” She answered and stepped to the window, hands pressed against the indentation of the hull just beneath the firm plastic portal view.

“There’s a lot on our plates right now,” He commented softly.

She nodded slowly, eyes absently staring out the window for nearly a minute before speaking. “I always wanted to do great things, Shepard. Put all of my intelligence and abilities to work for a good cause. Not because my father expected it or because I was forced to do it, but because it was to make a difference. But I’m really no different from my father. I’m his legacy. I’m exactly what he created me to be.”

“Why would you say that?”

“He invested every ounce of his energy into me.” She responded with intensity. “He chose every gene, every hue, every nerve ending. From my muscles to my mind, looks, brains, personality. He picked and designed me trait by trait until I was the creation he desired.” She peered back over her shoulder at him. “Exactly what I did to you.”

“I don’t see it that way,” Shepard shrugged casually. “Not at all actually.”

“What?” Surprised, she turned to face him. “How can you not?” She motioned to him with a hand. “Everything about you … I built you. I created you. You were a sack of … a pile of … you were just … degraded. You were dead, Shepard. Every muscle … every vein …”

“Regular Victor Frankenstein, bringing a corpse back from the dead.” He teased.

She arched a brow. “You know classic literature.”

“That surprise you a soldier may know such things?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “The Alliance military isn’t known for educating its soldiers in literature and art.”

“They don’t. But my mother found it important.” He dared to step closer to her. “I don’t even know your father, but from what you tell me about him I can say you’re nothing like him. First of all, what he did to you was out of selfish narcissism; what you did to me was an assignment, not narcissism.”

“That’s not true.” She interrupted before he could continue. She held his eyes, searching the dark blue depths. “You weren’t just an assignment. You were an impossible assignment. Nobody had ever done what we were trying to do. At least not successfully. It was selfishness as my motivation. I had to prove that what we were trying to do could be done. That I was better than him, smarter than him.” She brushed a gentle hand over his shoulder and down his arm. “And look at you. We did it. I … I recreated you from a pile of flesh and DNA strands to … well, you.”

His bicep twitched at her touch as he watched her expression. “We all have our personal motivations. Sometimes they’re not heroic or romantic or even good. But it’s what they motivate us to do that counts. So you have to think if the consequences and results outweigh the motivations and actions to get the goal. Well? Was the goal worth it?”

“What?”

He closed the distance between them, stalking closer until he was only a step away; she didn’t retreat. “Am I worth it?”

She averted her eyes, staring past his shoulder before meeting his eyes again. “Of course. Look at how far we have come. We couldn’t have come half this far if not for you.”

“I think you give me too much credit.”

“You don’t give yourself enough.” She sidestepped him and placed some distance between them. “I dedicated over two years of my life to you, Shepard. Before you even died. Cerberus wanted you. The Illusive Man saw what you did to defeat Saren and Sovereign. He knew you could do the same again and the Alliance kept dawdling and wasting you on frivolous, foolish …” she tossed her hair and waved a hand in the air. “Ridiculous and useless missions. They had you hunting geth!”

“I know,” he smirked and shook his head.

“Geth,” she repeated, tone tinged with anger. “But before I … we could reach you. To try to talk to you, see if you would work for us, you were killed.”

“Wait … before you?” Brow furrowed, curiously.

She sighed. “Yes. Me. My initial assignment after you defeated Sovereign was to recruit you. By any means necessary.”

“Any means necessary?” He grinned, teasing. “I may have enjoyed that. So if I didn’t listen to your reasons, would you have seduced me?”

She refused to seek his eye contact, keeping her back to him. “My instructions were any means necessary.”

“I may have been hard to seduce then. Things were different.”

“Seduction is more than sex, Shepard. Though I use my body to my advantage when necessary, it is not all I could have used to convince you. That’s beside the point now. You died. And soon my assignment turned from recruitment to recovery. And finally reconstruction.” Her voice softened as if the admission pained her to speak. “I spent every day …” then whispered. “Every day.” Her back to him, her head ducked slightly to look opposite the room to a darkened corner of the hull. “And you’re everything I could have hoped you’d be. Everything Cerberus could have hoped.”

He swallowed hard as he watched her, the delicate shadows grazing her features, masking her in mystery and allure. He stared at her profile, captivated though his voice gave nothing away. “You always throw Cerberus in, as if to justify it against your own pride, desire or thought. I’m not interested in what Cerberus thinks. I’m interested in what you think.” Slowly, he stepped away from the window towards her. “What did you do every day?”

“It wasn’t easy.” She answered softly and turned her head to watch him move before shifting her weight to face him. “Everything we had to do to not only bring you back to life but to build your body, your muscles, your organs. It was arduous and painstaking. Sometimes I thought it was useless … until I heard your heart beat. It … it was almost magical.” She smiled softly.

“What’s inside me? Am I flesh? Am I even alive or is some machine keeping my heart pumping?”

“You’re a little bit of everything. Your heart beats on its own, your organs function without any assistance, except your eyes. And you have some implants and cybernetics for other functions. Your skeleton, for example, has implants to keep it stabilized where the bone shattered and it wouldn’t grow correctly.”

“Why implants for my eyes? You grew other organs.”

“It was the only way to ensure your eyes would work properly. We couldn’t rejuvenate the organs and hope they would focus correctly and your distance and color perception would be perfect. It was the only way to guarantee when you opened your eyes, you’d see. So there is an implant not only in the retina but at the back of the brain to assist in your vision. You may even notice that what you see is clearer now than it ever was.”

“So what am I seeing … is that how it actually looks? Are you how you appear to me or is it some trick of the implant?”

“All sight is subjective, Shepard. We may both look at the same battlefield and see two entirely different scenarios. It is about accuracy. Blue is blue, squares are squares. But we didn’t make that initial implantation for your ears. If you couldn’t hear when you awoke, that would be easy to fix with post construction surgery. Eyesight, however, proved more difficult to predict.”

He nodded slowly, eyes distant in memory as he processed the information she openly related. “I remember Jacob saying that I was on the operating table for a better part of two years. But then … when you woke me up when the facility was under attack … how did I get up?”

“Ah,” She paced to the couch and sat down. “Yes, your muscles weren’t atrophied. That took a lot of time and energy.”

“What do you mean?” He sat curiously beside her. “How did you do that? I looked like I spent years in the training ring.”

She hesitated, eyeing him with uncertainty. “It’s complicated.”

“I think I deserve to know.”

She sighed and leaned forward, twisted slightly at the waist to face him. “What I did to you earlier? With my biotics? I did that to you daily. Starting the day you arrived. It stimulated your muscle growth and usage, triggered the contraction so the muscles worked.”

“Daily?” He inched closer to her. That explained the familiar sensation, the comfort and the pull he felt towards her. “Tell me more about that thing you did. Can all biotics do that?”

“No, no,” she quickly shook her head. “Some Asari can, they have the control. I have never heard of another human doing it. If I push too hard, I can tear your muscle apart, right from the bone and shred it. And if the temperature isn’t right, I can freeze it or burn it. It’s about exactitude and discipline. I was trained to do that from a young age. I wasn’t always as … good as I am now.”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes darted to the side in recollection. “It’s a difficult skill to master, and when practicing …” she sighed. “Let’s just say that many …” her jaw tensed a moment and she met his eyes, confident and proud. “Many animals and some creatures and humans died before I learned exactly what I was doing.”

Silence lingered a few seconds and Miranda shifted nervously as if judged. Shepard rested his arms on his knees, leaning forward as he stared at the table in front of him. “When you were doing that … whatever it’s called, it … something felt so comforting and familiar about it.”

She looked away from him as a small smile tugged at her lips. “Well, I did do it to you nearly every day for two years. Your muscles probably remember it.”

He nodded seriously, brow narrowed in concentration. “And when I awoke the first time. At least the first time I remember. I remember seeing the lights, but it was kind of blurry. And then you and then that other guy and I can’t … I don’t remember what you said, but I remember the sound of your voice. What happened to me?”

“We were raising your dosage of stimulants to bring your blood pressure up, hoping to wake you from unconsciousness, but it was too much too fast. I almost wonder now if Wilson did it on purpose, to surge your system with stimulants until your heart exploded.”

“He sabotaged your project.”

“He wanted you dead,” Miranda responded flatly. “I wasn’t going to visit you that day, but I wanted to see your progress. That’s when the alarms went off. It would be a prime opportunity for him to sabotage if he wanted to.”

He smirked and slowly shook his head, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “I’ve never been referred to as a mission before. Sabotaged. Progress.”

“You were a mission.” She stated seriously before playfully adding. “At the time.”

He laughed. “At the time? Hmm? What now then?” He leaned closer to her teasingly.

She reached out, pressing a hand into his chest to keep him at bay though with very little force. “We shouldn’t. The mission.”

“Back to this, are we? Do we have a problem? A situation?” He mimicked the Illusive Man’s tone. “Because it doesn’t feel like a problem to me.”

“Shepard …”

He pressed his good hand into the couch as he pivoted at the hips to move closer to her. “I know what you’re thinking. And what you’re worried about and it’s not the damn mission. I’m not Niket. Or your father or the Illusive Man. You have to trust someone, Miranda, or you’ll go insane.”

“I know that,” she snapped back, stiffening defensively. “I just … I don’t need …”

“Yeah, you do need. You’re still human. Is it so bad to want this? Or is it you don’t want me.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I … I need time, Shepard. Please. Just … give me time.” Her eyes opened, beseeching.

He held her gaze and after an unnerving moment, he nodded and eased back. “Alright. So how long do I have til the asshole calls again?”

She relaxed and sat up. “A few hours. You should sleep some more.”

“Only if you do.”

She pushed to her feet, tugging at the top of her boot near her thigh, adjusting it. “I’m exhausted.”

He watched her, leaning back casually on the couch. “But does that mean you’ll sleep? Or work through it; grab a caffeine supplement?”

She chuckled. “I’m quite tired. I’ll sleep don’t worry.”

“Good,” he pushed to his feet and stretched. “I’d be willing to stay if … you find the ship a little cold.” He teased.

Her smile remained at his teasing. “Maybe when I’m not so tired.”

He slowly shook his head and sighed. “Shot down again. Damn, Garrus is so much better at this than I am.” He took a step to her and slid a hand along her waist. “When the Illusive man calls, I’ll let you know. Meet me in the com room afterwards, ok?”

“Aye, Commander,”

“You know, ‘Sure, John’ would also be alright.”

“Ok, Shepard.”

He easily read the hint of a teasing smile through her stoic demeanor. When they first met, her teasing would have eluded him; the reason why she infuriated him. As the days passed, he grew to understand her nuances. “Close enough.” His hand tightened on her waist as he leaned close, head tilted slightly as his lips pursed against hers in a soft and chaste kiss. His fingers moved slightly in a tender caress as he held the kiss a moment longer than he should.

She returned the kiss softly, her body failing to hold back the shiver at his tenderness.

His hand abandoned her waist to cup her cheek through the kiss before finally pulling back. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” Voice deep, husked.

Miranda nodded. She licked her lips as he turned from her and left the office. Her thin veil of control fell away and she sunk hard onto the bed, sitting roughly as she reached up to touch her mouth.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 Shepard stared blankly at the image of the Normandy at the center of the communications room, the surrounding sounds of his arguing crew a faint and far away din to the thoughts in his mind. The Illusive Man proved to be a difficult man to challenge, especially when he thought he was right and without fault. Shepard hated to admit it, but deep down he knew the Illusive Man was right about a great many things. He understood secrecy and its necessity, begrudgingly admitting that during the conversation.

If he knew of the trap before arriving at the Collector ship, it would have changed his actions, his plan. And they may not have gotten as much intel. He just wished he didn’t have to put his crew at risk. His life was a different matter.

Miranda paced behind him, the movement catching his eye and breaking his trance. EDI displayed a map of the galaxy and pinpointed the collector home location at the very center.

“That can’t be right,” Jacob commented with a shake of the head.

“It’s right,” Shepard defended the AI. “Question is how the hell do we get to the center of the galaxy and not get crushed by the gravity and black holes?”

Miranda stopped her pacing as she stared, expression void of emotion. Her mask firmly in place, she showed nothing.

Shepard wished she would; he wanted her input. Again, he listened to Jacob and Mordin’s advice before finally taking Miranda’s into consideration. “I want to hit the Collector’s as much as you do, Jacob. But we have to keep building our team. We need to make sure we are more than ready because once we make the jump, there is no coming back.”

“It’s your decision, Commander,” Jacob saluted, expression firm and stoic in respect before he turned to leave the room. Mordin followed, eyes lingering on the image of the galaxy and the point at the center marking the Collector home world.

Miranda walked behind Shepard to leave, reaching out to gently touch the small of his back with her hand. Her fingers lingered and he looked back over his shoulder at her. She offered a faint reassuring smile before continuing to the door.

“Wait.”

She paused at the door and turned to face him. “Commander?”

Shoulder slumped slightly, he looked back to the galactic hologram. “Gather the crew. Everyone in the mess hall. I want to talk to them before we dock.”

She inclined her head. “Of course, Commander. I will have everyone assembled in five minutes.”

He nodded in acknowledgment as she left.

He left the communication room for the bridge. He accessed his personal terminal as Kelly Chambers and the rest of the bridge crew moved to the elevator. Chambers eyed him curiously, stares lingering longer than necessary. “Commander?”

“Just checking my messages, Kelly. I’ll be down momentarily.” His brow furrowed as he flicked through his messages and stopped on a new message from Ashley Williams.

Chambers nodded. “Yes, Commander.” She walked around the large galactic map at the center, gathering the rest of the crew.

Down in the mess hall, Shepard hesitated outside the elevator of the third deck, listening to the voices in the mess room behind the elevator shuttle. No single voice stood out, all melding to a pulsing din. Straightening his back, he walked around the circular hall into the mess hall. A majority of the crew congregated at the center, sitting on chairs, stools and benches around the table. Jack kept to a corner far from the rest, arms crossed and eyes away from the others in boredom. Samara stood beside Kasumi, speaking softly to the inquisitive questions from the youthful thief. Grunt and Garrus stood with arms crossed by the tunnel to the battery bay, quiet and statuesque in their shared, gruffed company. Jacob knocked on Miranda’s office, calling the Cerberus operative to emerge with a thankful nod. She waited by the door to her office, a flicker of intrigue on her well-placed, calm mask.

Shepard glanced over his shoulder as Zaeed and Thane entered the mess hall, staying to the sides and away from others. Shepard’s eyes scanned the room, ensuring everyone was present. When Mordin entered, he nodded and stepped forward.

Shepard addressed the entire gathered crowd. “Thank you.” The crew quieted. “I wanted to thank you all for your excellent service and response, no, courage during our mission to the Collector ship. We managed to gather the intelligence we sought, and the Illusive Man believes we will soon find a way to activate the Omega 4 Relay and take the fight to the Collector’s on their home turf.”

“We should be arriving at the Citadel within the next half hour. There are some repairs needed for the Normandy, and I will make sure we restock on supplies so if any of you need something for the ship, be sure to submit your order to Operative Lawson. I don’t know when we’ll be docking again or have the availability of materials like we will on the Citadel so we need to stock up now.”

“Secondarily, once we dock, I’m authorizing a 24 hour shore leave.” Shepard announced to thrilled hoots and applause. He smiled at the response. “After everything, I think we all deserve a little break and it’s not like we can go anywhere while the materials for repair are delivered to the Normandy. That goes for the squad too.”

“After that 24 hour period, you’re all going to have two choices. Come back on board or stay on the Citadel.” He paced to the wall nearest the exit and leaned casually against it, his stance relaxed and confident. “I’m not going to sweeten anything about this mission. It’s dangerous and chances are we’re not coming back from it. But we have a job to do, because frankly nobody else is going to do it. You’re all brave men and women, and I’m proud of this crew and this team. But I won’t ask you to give your life for this mission unless you make that decision yourself.”

He eyed the Cerberus crew. “I know you’re Cerberus. I can’t promise you that there won’t be consequences from Cerberus if you choose not to stay, but this is my ship, my mission and my call. You do what you feel you have to do.”

“This is a suicide mission,” he stated with calm disregard. “I’m just saying what everyone here has been saying since the beginning. But I’m going after the Collectors. We’re going to their home world and hitting them where it’ll hurt the most.”

Garrus chuckled. “You mean like that merc you nailed in his …”

“Yes,” Shepard interrupted though he grinned at the memory. “Just like that.” The banter earned a few chuckles before Shepard continued. “And maybe we won’t come back from it, but I am gonna shoot every one of those bastards and take as many of them with me if I’m martyring myself for humanity. Hell, death hasn’t stopped me before, a suicide mission won’t stop me now. We’ll be docking in less than an hour. Get your lists to Operative Lawson then enjoy your leave. For those of you that don’t come back, thank you for your service.” He nodded once in recognition to the crew. “It’s been an honor serving with all of you. Dismissed.”

Shepard turned, leaving the crew to their talks, whispers and discussions. He cued the elevator for his cabin quarters and stepped inside, letting the door close behind him.

Miranda worked quickly, collecting the dozens of lists submitted to her console from the various departments on board the Normandy. Her eyes skimmed each list, deleting the frivolous, duplicates and pointless requests before compiling the rest into a master list organized both alphabetically and alphabetically by department. She activated her omni-tool, connecting it to the database and downloaded the list.

She tapped her fingers swiftly along the console and accessed the payroll for the Normandy, ensuring each crew member had been properly paid and their credit chits updated with the current monetary information.

The Normandy soared into Citadel space and Joker expertly docked at the assigned docking bay. Miranda walked to the hatch, waiting as she noted and checked off the members of the crew as they left on the tablet in her hand. She noted each individual and the time they departed. Most ignored her as they passed. No secret, she was not loved by the crew though she was respected for her position and power. Used to the labels – bitch, ice queen, cold – she dismissed the hostility. The same names followed her from assignment to assignment.

Initially, the labels stung. She focused and worked diligently during her first assignment, given the name ‘cold’ because she refused to dive into bed with any leering male within the facility. ‘Bitch’ soon followed because she refused to accept a half completed half-assed job. Was it so wrong to demand quality work?

‘Ice Queen’ was assigned some years later during the Lazarus Project. It was a new label, though not all together untrue. Her childhood and teenage years compounded with her early experiences with Cerberus chilled her already stoic and intense demeanor to a frozen and impenetrable fortress. A defensive and protective response, she found solace in solitude.

“There are some people I’m hoping won’t come back.”

The statement interrupted Miranda’s train of thought though she avoided the eyes of the voice’s owner. She recognized the voice; it was one of the techs from communication. She worked previously with him on the Lazarus project and she called him a lazy sod on more than one occasion. He accused her of picking on him and demanding perfection when perfection was impossible.

She curiously wondered why the tech was placed on the new Normandy. Was the Illusive man punishing him? Or perhaps the Illusive Man was testing her.

Miranda begrudgingly checked off the tech’s name, hoping he took advantage of Shepard’s insane offer and remained on the Citadel. Insane offers. What was Shepard thinking? They needed everyone on that ship. Why would he open the opportunity for any of them to walk? The Normandy required a substantial sized crew to launch, even more to chase the Collectors.

She flicked her finger along the tablet, skimming over the names of the crew. “EDI? Is anyone else still on board?”

“Joker is in the cockpit,” EDI calmly answered. “Garrus is in the battery hold. Samara is in the Observation deck. Commander Shepard is in his cabin. The selected second half of the crew is still at their stations.”

Wisely, Jacob had acted quickly after Shepard’s announcement of shore leave. She estimated three days minimum for full repairs; the crew agreed to split the shore leave, ensuring the Normandy repaired on schedule.

Curious, she waited at the hatch, tugging on her thigh high boots and refastening them ensuring their snug grip of her thigh. She patted her ammo pouch then the sidearm in reassurance of their presence. She waited fifteen minutes.

Samara left, Joker followed five minutes later. He smiled, tipping his hat. “I won’t be long. Just a couple of hours then I’ll come back. Somebody’s gotta stay with my baby. And I’m not letting anyone fly off with her.”

Miranda nodded. “Alright, Joker. I will stay until you return. Contact me when you’re back and I’ll open the hatch. Otherwise for security purposes, we will keep it locked.”

“Will do, Miranda … erm … Operative Lawson.” He limped down the ramp towards the hatch for the Citadel.

Miranda waited another five minutes. “EDI, where is Commander Shepard?”

“Commander Shepard is in his cabin.”

She tapped the buttons at the door, locking the hatch for the ramp before turning and crossing the bay to the elevator.

+++

Shepard stepped carefully into his greaves, fastening and securing them around his hips. He sat on the bed, checking the brackets at his knees then ankles before tugging on the boots and connecting it to the calf of his greaves. His bandaged arm stiffened at his movements but he pressed, forcing the muscles. He winced, reaching up to grab his shoulder, massaging it slightly through his tight shirt. He rolled the joint, tilting his neck opposite the arm to stretch the tension.

Standing, he took a few steps, testing the snug armor before bending over to tighten a strap at the calf and one of his boots. Eyeing the breast plate, shoulders and gloves on the bed, he reluctantly approached the bedside and picked up the breast plate. He held the plate to his chest with his wounded arm and reached around, using his free hand to loop and strap the plate into place.

Attempting the same task with his wounded arm proved useless, the pain pulsed as he stretched to wrap and reach the other straps. Frustrated, he growled and ripped the breast plate off, throwing it across the room. It banged against the hull, falling to the floor with a clank. He winced, grabbing the shoulder and rolling the sore joint before pacing away from the armor. He sat heavily in the chair at his private terminal.

He skimmed through the archived messages and opened the message recently sent from Ashley Williams:

_Subject: Hey there._  
  
Shepard-  
  
I'm sorry for what I said back on Horizon. When I lost you two years ago, it tore me up. I prayed for you every day. I read a lot of Tennyson, thinking about you, just like I did when my dad passed. And then you came back, and it was like my prayers were answered. But I'm not who I was then, and neither are you.  
  
I don't know what's true anymore. Part of me can't believe it's really you. I keep going back to that night before Ilos, our night... I haven't let myself think about those memories in over a year.  
  
I wouldn't have expected you to work for Cerberus, but I know why they sent you to Horizon. I saw how many people were lost there, and if anyone can stop the Collectors, you can. I can't go where you're going, but I can wish you luck.  
  
Just stay alive out there... Skipper. I don't know what the future holds, but I can't lose you a second time.  
  
\--Ash  
  
Death closes all: but something ere the end  
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,  
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods

Sighing, Shepard sat back, closing his terminal. “God … damn it.” He planted his elbow into the arm of his chair and ducked his head into his hand. Fisting his hand, he lifted his head slightly and pressed the backs of his fingers into his lips, holding his head up in thought.

Ashley obviously still cared about him. And if he was honest with himself, he cared about her. They shared something special two years ago and if things were different …

He shook his head and stood. But they weren’t different. Two years was a long time and though he cared for Ashley, he didn’t love her. Not the way she loved him. The letter resurrected fond memories. Ashley had her quirks and annoyances but she was a good and devoted person, loyal to a fault and driven to accomplish something, to do right by others. Not always aliens, but certainly humans.

Was Ashley really so different from Miranda? The details of their past experiences varied however the outcome to the personality was the same for each woman. Hardened, fierce, focused, beautiful, willful. Ashley had physical strength and fearless drive where Miranda was brilliant with cautious control. Ashley – quick tempered and explosive. Miranda – slow burning and searing.

Was it possible he transferred his feelings for Ashley to Miranda? Garrus said Shepard had a tendency of getting cozy with other women under his command. And the turian only knew about two instances. Shepard remembered other times when he started relationships with women under similar circumstances. The first girl was while he was with his parents and a young teenager stationed aboard their ship. Then the girl from the barracks during his training. Then the girl from his first mission. A few women followed, all stationed with him or under his command. He met Ashley on Eden Prime during a fire fight and then Miranda two years later.

Would it ever stop? Or was he destined to get a hard on for any woman under his command?

“Commander?”

The almost lyrical voice echoed through his quiet chamber from behind him – Miranda Lawson. He peered back over his shoulder.

Miranda stood atop the few stairs between his sleeping quarters and the small office with his terminal. Her arms crossed, she leaned into her hip, eyeing the discarded breastplate with the slightest hint of amusement. “Having problems?”

He couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. How could he ever doubt the emotions that woman sparked? Rolling his eyes, he shrugged casually in an attempt to appear fully controlled. “No problems. Just wasn’t in the mood to put it on.”

“Ah, I see.” She crossed slowly to the breastplate and bent at the waist to pick it up. She casually tossed the breastplate onto the bed; it clanged against the shoulders and gloves. She frowned. “What did you do to it?” Walking to the bedside, she pulled the breastplate closer and untied the knots of the straps, delicate fingers expertly working out the tie.

Shepard watched her intensely. Was it only physical desire for Miranda Lawson? Did she replace the void left by Ashley’s dismissal and rejection on Horizon? Of course physical desire raced through his system when he watched Miranda. He was only human, after all, and she was the most beautiful woman he ever saw. That wasn’t all that attracted him. She was intelligent, passionate yet with a firm grasp of control. He fantasized during quiet moments alone in his cabin what it would be like to see her control slip. Was she a dominating lover? Or did she submit for the thrill and release of giving up the control?

Since Horizon, Ashley rarely materialized in a memory unless as a nostalgic reminiscence of the past. During his few hours of sleep, Miranda’s image not Ashley’s haunted his dreams. Was it Miranda or Ashley that pulsed through his blood, motivated him, drove him and lingered in his mind?

“You may want to get out there and start ordering the repairs.” Miranda stated professionally as she tugged on the final knot of the armor. “I’ve uploaded the lists from the crew you requested to your omni-tool.”

“Thanks. Are you going to take advantage of your shore leave?”

“I am,” she responded simply and held the breastplate to his chest, tying it in place with a firm touch. “There are some errands I need to take care of.”

“Need any help?”

She offered a small smile, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll be fine. It won’t take me long.”

He reached up with his good hand, activating her omni-tool and tapped along the displayed buttons. She watched him curiously, pausing in her task of attaching his armor. “Just giving you the funds,” Shepard answered softly. “Connecting your chit to the Normandy account. Anything you need, get. If you want to work on the list or need something for yourself, upgrades. Whatever you need.”

“Shepard, you …”

“I know. I didn’t have to. I want to. You’re my second. If I can’t trust you with our money, who can I trust?”

“Thank you, Shepard,” she answered with a genuine smile and soft eyes. “I can get the crew’s list if you want to find the ship repairs.”

“Deal.” He nodded and matched her smile. He fell silent as she circled around his back, fastening the rest of his breastplate and back plate then attached his pauldrons to the armor.

“How does that feel? Is your arm ok?”

He rolled the shoulder in the armor. “It’s a little snug.”

“You want it to be. Any looser and you risk destabilizing it. It’ll be uncomfortable now, but trust me, it’s for the best.” She touched his exposed neck, running her fingers slightly under the armor towards the sore shoulder. Warm tendrils extended from her hand into the shoulder, instantly triggering the muscles to relax.

He moaned, eyes falling closed at the sensation, and within the minute, any soreness of the muscle faded away. When she slowly removed her hand, Shepard spun and closed the distance between them, expression intense as he reached up to cup her cheeks and crush his lips to hers. Miranda tensed at the sudden act, her biotics flared slightly in defense. She gripped his wrist, and with a sigh, her eyes closed as she returned his kiss.

He held the kiss a long moment. When her biotics flared, her power flowed into him, pulsing through his veins. The implants behind his eyes and something deep in his stomach and in his head fired at the energy as his muscles surged in response. Alluring, addicting the energy triggered every nerve in his sensitive lips. When the biotics calmed only physicality remained and still she overwhelmed him. The scent, the sensation of kissing Miranda clouded his mind with pleasure and warming emotions.

Miranda’s grasp tightened on his wrist before she pressed a hand into his chest, pushing him gently back. When he finally broke the kiss, she inhaled heavily to catch her breath. “What was that all about?” Her voice husked, and she swallowed, straightening to control.

Shepard grinned, slipping a hand around Miranda’s waist to hold her against him. “What? I can’t have a kiss?”

“You just do it often.” She pressed gently at his chest in a silent request for a little space.

His hand loosened slightly, allowing her the step back but no more. “Just testing you.”

“Test?” She arched a brow at him. “What kind of test?”

He bit back the smile at her challenged agitation and nodded solemnly. “Just a simple test.” He averted his gaze in pompous reflective thought. “You know for being a perfect woman, your kissing could use some work.”

“Some … work.”

Shepard treaded carefully, trying to read her unreadable expression. Determined and curious to her breaking point, he pushed further. “Yep, work. You can be a little tense.”

“I see.” she slowly circled him.

He turned with her, not allowing her to get behind him. Quickly, he searched his wits for a response. His intention was playful banter; Miranda looked ready to filet him.

Before he reacted or spoke, Miranda shoved at his chest, knocking him off his feet, and onto his back on the mattress. Eyes widened, his abs clenched as he tried to sit up. She stopped him, pressing her hands into his chest as she crawled onto the mattress, her knees straddling his hips. Eyes held his a moment, and she ducked her head, kissing him.

He eagerly matched the kiss, leaning up into her. Her hands pressed on his triceps, the one on his wounded shoulder far gentler than the other as she effectively kept him pinned. Her body hummed with energy as she clamped her knees against his hips, touching him with only knees, hands, and mouth. Her biotic power slowly intensified, and her tongue poked at his lips.

When her tongue touched his, a volt of electrical energy shot through his body, wrapping around every nerve in a surge of pleasure. He growled, muscles of his arms tensing as he tried to reach for her, to touch her. She refused to release him, her energy keeping him pinned as she deepened the kiss, nearly consuming him in a wave of passion.

She slowly lowered herself, sitting on his hips and pressed firmly, offering the pressure his body desired through his greaves. He moaned, abs contracting as he lifted his head to draw her closer. She overwhelmed him, captivated and entranced in a kiss and sensation that coursed through his body, pulsing every nerve. She pressed harder onto his hips, teasing, and he groaned in frustration as desire flooded his mind and body.

Her hand abandoned his sore arm to reach and slide down his body, pressing on his hip, inches from his groin. His free hand reached for her, running up her thigh; he squirmed, his greaves too tight.

Suddenly, she was gone. No kiss, no touch, no presence, even the biotics retreated. Moaning, he forced his eyes open, hazed with lust. He peered down his body as he savored her lingering taste in his mouth. She stood a few feet from him, eyeing him with calm control. Her lips swollen but otherwise she showed no effect of the kiss. Reaching up with a single finger, she touched the corner of her lip then licked them slowly.

She walked up the stairs and waved a hand over the sensor for the door. It opened instantly and she stepped out, offering a coy smile and playful wink just before the door closed. Shepard laughed, letting his head fall back onto the bed and he closed his eyes in an attempt to still his desire and gain some control.


	12. Chapter 12

Miranda weaved through the crowded streets of the Citadel, dodging pandering vendors and passers-by on her route to the Dark Star. She purchased some provisions for delivery to the Normandy. Inside the Dark Star, she scanned the dancers, drinkers, and clients as she made her way to the bar. Leaning casually against the counter, she ordered an expensive glass of wine. Gripping the neck of the glass, she inhaled and sipped slowly, savoring the strong dry taste.

Her eyes moved constantly though her demeanor suggested calmness. Naturally distrustful, she crossed the bar towards an empty table. She chose a table in the corner of the bar, a bench tucked against the wall at both sides with a small circular table at the center. She sat at the edge of one bench and rested her glass on the table. She positioned herself to ensure perfect visuals of the bar as well as an easy direct route to an exit.

Gripping the neck of the wine glass lightly, she twirled the liquid absently, eyes constantly searching the crowd for her contact. She waited half an hour then stood, returning to the bar. She sipped the last of her wine and rested her elbows on the countertop. She placed her wineglass down as a heavy body bumped into her from behind.

She quickly glanced over her shoulder at the bump as a burly man reached over her shoulder to place down his liquor glass. He swayed slightly and from the hand holding his glass dropped a small one square inch envelope; the envelope landed beside Miranda’s hand. The man barked at the bar keeper for a refill and once the glass filled with the glowing purple liquid, he pressed a hand against Miranda’s back to push himself off of her and staggered into the crowd.

Miranda slyly slipped the envelope from its place on the table and casually hid it in her belt. She left the bar, making the rest of the crew requested purchases and bartering fair prices before returning to the Normandy.

+++

Miranda returned to the Normandy, unseen as she walked to her office then closed and locked the door behind her. She removed the envelope from her belt and sat at her desk. With careful precision, she opened the envelope and dumped its contents onto her desk. A small computer chip no larger than her smallest finger nail fell from the envelope. No instructions, no details. None were needed.

She stared at the chip a long moment before hesitantly reaching for it then picking it up. She brought the chip close to her face, head tilting slightly to examine it better. Suspicions confirmed, she lowered her hand, staring blankly at the locked door to her chambers as she set the chip back onto her desk. Slowly leaning back in her chair, she rested her elbow on the chair’s arm and brushed her fingers over her chin in thought. Her eyes lowered to stare at the computer chip.

A delicate piece of technology Miranda had come into contact with only twice in her times with Cerberus. Based on highly controversial research performed by a small unacknowledged Salarian research team, the chip was initially developed as a possible solution to solve the Krogan population problem. Cerberus modified the useful intelligence after securing its technology through undisclosed sources.

The new chip implanted behind the ear in the soft flesh and like a small parasite to the host, buried itself beneath the skin before its insect-like legs emerged and embedded the chip into the subject. Each leg tip touched specific points of the near nerves allowing access to the mind. Unlike the original indoctrination techniques of the Salarian model, the Cerberus chip stayed dormant within the host until triggered by remote. Once triggered, the remote user controlled subject decision making, motive and drive for a short period of time. The purpose of the chip was not indoctrination but subtle control.

During experimentation with the chip, the host experienced burning pain at the start of the event until mind “sway” – as Cerberus called it – was complete. Once “swayed” the subject obeyed without question or hesitation. After the triggered event, the subject retained minimal memories of the event.

When Shepard lay on the operating table during reconstruction, Miranda wanted to install a chip into his skull as an insurance policy. The Illusive man dismissed every argument with little explanation other than Shepard must return exactly as he was. Infuriated by the results, she pondered implanting the chip without permission. She mulled over the thought for months and even used her personal contacts and expense accounts to procure a chip.

Miranda turned the envelope over in her hand, absently sliding it between fingers. Two years passed, the project continued and she never implanted the chip. She never pinpointed why she opted against the installation other than the flimsy façade of orders or duty. One evening she slipped into the medical bay with the chip while the facility slept. She almost pressed the controlling device to the slowly healing flesh of Commander Shepard. As she held the chip close to the implantation point, she hesitated and looked to the Commander’s healing face.

She couldn’t place the implant. She waited too long. If she simply implanted the device when he was still a pile of flesh and bone, but she did not. Shepard laid on the table a man at a year and a half into the project. She recognized his features. His skin formed, his hair needed tending and cut every six weeks. He needed shaved. She massaged his muscles to ensure their form and capability. She made the mistake of investing personally in her patient.

The destruction of the Lazarus project and her facilities obliterated any evidence of the chip – a pricey and useful chip though if she stopped to retrieve the implant, the mechs of the station would have killed her. She escaped relatively unscathed and dedicated her efforts to saving humanity, stopping the Collectors. She learned more of the Commander, truly understanding his motives, his thoughts, and his strength. Initially she taunted him with the hint at wanting to implant a chip in his head; it wasn’t a lie. But as the weeks passed she regretted the consideration of altering his mind for any use. Whether by her approved methods, Cerberus, or his own, Commander Shepard succeeded and focused on the impossible task of defeating the Collectors.

Trust was not a gift Miranda gave freely. Too often people disappointed or worse yet, betrayed. When the Illusive Man assigned her to Shepard’s team, she promised herself that Shepard would have to earn her trust. She never thought he would accomplish the task so easily.

Miranda sighed, leaned forward and slipped the chip into the envelope before placing the envelope aside on the desk to access the computer terminals. Navigating the system, she entered the protocol codes for the security system then selected the Tech lab.

“System malfunction.” The computer announced.

Miranda frowned, checking the options and various bugs planted within the lab. The entire sector blacked out. Curious, she bypassed the broken nodules switching the circuits. No results. She closed the terminal, stood and grabbed the envelope from the desk. Securing her terminals, she left the office for the elevator.

She entered Mordin’s tech lab unannounced, purposefully striding to the flask and test tube covered counter. Mordin peered up from his terminal. “Ah … Lawson.” He continued typing at his terminal. “Can I help you?”

She glanced discreetly around the lab before tossing the envelope onto the counter. It slid a few inches before stopping at the center. She crossed her arms, stance spread slightly as she waited. Mordin paused, head turning as he glanced down at the envelope. Eyes darted to Miranda then down to the envelope. “Something for me? Did you get my list for supplies?”

“I did.” She answered simply. “They will be delivered to the Normandy within twenty four hours.”

“Then what have we here?” Long skeletal fingers reached out towards the envelope, drawing it closer. He opened the envelope and carefully emptied the contents onto the counter. His head cocked, eyes narrowing in examination. He plucked a slender metallic probe from the cylindrical cup beside the test tubes and delicately flipped the chip to examine both sides. His head jerked back. “Where did you get this?”

“I need you to replicate it.”

“Hmm …” he leaned back, eyes intense on the chip as he crossed his arms, bringing one hand to absently tap his chin in thought. “It is not entirely familiar. But if … memory serves me right … Salarian technology. Altered. Could be a few things. Tracking … mind control.”

“You’re right,” Miranda affirmed. “About everything. A neural chip based off of Salarian research used for both tracking and mind control. Can you replicate it, but without the mind control?”

“Perhaps, yes. I would have to study it further … but there is much to do.”

“I understand. This is the utmost importance. I expect discretion.”

“I see.” Mordin prodded the chip with the probe. “I will need full access to the files about this chip. What exactly do you want? Still tracking? Still sensors? Still implantation?”

“Yes.” Miranda circled the table and pressed her hands into the counter as she leaned against the fixed tabletop. “I need it to be duplicated exactly, even to the same frequency. The only exception is when it is activated to induce the mind control, that feature fails.”

“Hmm,” Mordin stroked his chin then turned to face Miranda and nodded curtly. “It can be done. But it will take time. It is a … delicate … procedure. If the slightest calculation is wrong or … inaccurate. Fatal consequences.”

“That’s fine. It has to be perfect, I understand that. The second part of this. Absolute discretion. No one can know. That includes Shepard. I’ll need the original chip back when you’re finished. Make them an exact match. Feel free to do something minor to differentiate them.”

Mordin examined Miranda then paced to the cupboard and back again. “The chip is for Shepard. Makes sense. He has not been … accommodating to Cerberus causes. Hmm, interesting revelation though. To duplicate. Illusive man must have contacted you. Wants the chip for Shepard. Understandable. Could be a liability if not firmly controlled.” He tilted his head and hummed. “Hmm. But you do not want to do it. Hence, the duplicate. Cerberus needs to think you implanted the chip … without actually giving over the control to the Illusive man.”

Miranda expressed no reaction as she held the Salarian’s inquisitive gaze.

“Humans are … interesting species. You are torn between loyalty to Cerberus … and to Shepard. Interesting indeed.”

“I understand Cerberus’s concern,” Miranda defended. “But we brought Shepard back because of his ability to achieve impossible goals. He defeated Saren and Sovereign because of his own will, decision making, and strengths. To alter his ability now when we are hunting another powerful foe will only hinder our success.”

He paused in thought then nodded his approval. “Very wise. You are correct. I will have the chip to you in a few days. I should have everything I need here. Ah … I almost forgot.” He turned to the cupboard, swinging open the doors then dug inside the contents of one of the drawers. He picked out an electronic device and turned it over in his hands, examining it. Returning to Miranda, he handed it to her. “This, I believe … is yours.”

Miranda took the device, brow arched in recognition of one of the cameras installed in the tech lab.

“The others I destroyed,” Mordin stated with a wave of the hand. “They were standard issue bugs. That one appeared … expensive.”

A slow smirk tugged at Miranda’s lips. “Thank you.”

“I have submitted detailed reports on everything I’ve studied. I am sure you are aware. I am also sure you are aware of my … distrust for Cerberus. Your organization is not known to being … sympathetic to non-humans.”

“Cerberus is merely looking out for human interest. We are not against working with aliens or employing them when necessary. The Systems Alliance is just as skeptical of alien intervention. It is only the council that has legitimized them. The Alliance refused to take the drastic steps when necessary and so Cerberus decided to pursue those interests. Ironic, isn’t it? Cerberus is demonized when Council Specters have been known to go to even further extremes in their pursuits.”

“Intuitive,” Mordin nodded in agreement. “And very true. We all have our … extremes. I was one. I can … respect your cause, Lawson. But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“Commander on deck,” EDI stated shipwide. “XO Lawson is relieved.”

Miranda slipped the chip back into the envelope. “I have to implant something into Shepard. The Illusive man will be waiting for the chip to come online. I will need the replica as soon as possible. Secrecy is key. From everyone.”

“I understand.” Mordin replied.

“If you need any supplies, give me the list. I will procure you with anything you need.”

“I can have a list to you within a few hours. But I should have everything I need here.”

“Thank you,” Miranda glanced down at the expensive camera in her hand and then turned to walk through the doors leading towards the armory. Accessing her locker, she checked the hand cannon, testing its weight then eyeing the barrel. In her last firefight, a thermal shot clipped the edge of the barrel, altering the metal. Unsafe for use, she immediately returned it to Jacob for repair.

“Checking up on my work?”

Miranda glanced back over her shoulder at the Armory Officer. “Checking on my gun. Not your work. Just wanted to make sure it was ready.”

“It is.” Jacob answered as he entered the armory. “I’ll have to test it before I know for certain. But everything appears intact. Don’t use it until I test it.”

“How are the weapon upgrades?” She placed the hand cannon back into the locker.

“As expected. It takes time to implement the upgrades into each weapon. And there are a lot of weapons on this ship.”

“The shore squad is large,” Miranda agreed. “But we will need every gun when we meet the Collector’s. I know you’ll have all the weapons at their maximum efficiency.”

“I understand the importance, Miranda.”

“I knew you would,” She glanced down the row of lockers. “Does Shepard keep his gear here as well?”

“Only his weapons in the locker there,” Jacob pointed to the large locker at the end of the line. “His armor, he keeps in his quarters. I tried to talk him into leaving it here, so I can make the repairs and keep it at its peak. But he won’t hear of it. In fact, he sits on that stool right there and watches me repair it. It’s like he doesn’t trust me.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone in Cerberus. It’s not just you.” She replied with casual control. Pulling out the submachine guns from her locker, she checked the barrels for cleanliness. “I can’t really blame him. Before we brought him back, he fought and killed many of our field agents in various cells. I’m surprised the Illusive Man trusted him to work with us at all.”

“The Commander just wants to stop the Collectors. He’s using whatever means he can. I guess the Alliance just had too much red tape and politicking. Kinda the same reason I quit. Couldn’t stand how ineffective it all was. At least in Cerberus, things get done. I’ll be honest, sometimes I don’t like how they get done. But at least they get done.”

“I would have to agree. Sometimes harsh and extreme measures must be taken in order to achieve the goal. Within reason. The Illusive Man intervenes when he knows something too extreme is happening. Like what we did with the Rachni. We stopped that research immediately when we realized how intelligent the creatures were.”

Jacob nodded solemnly before inquiring. “Wonder how far he’ll let us go?”

Miranda placed the guns back into the locker then closed it, the metal clicking shut. “It’s not a question of how far he’ll let us go but how far we are willing to go. I’ll talk to you later, Jacob.” She left the armory for the elevator and waved her hand over the sensor to signal the shuttle.

Within seconds, the door opened and the Commander stepped out, nearly knocking into Miranda.

Miranda reached up with a hand to touch his chest, stopping him. “Oh … pardon me, Commander,” she stepped around him into the elevator then turned to face him. “Is everything alright? I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“Just fine,” He answered, twisting at the waist to watch her. “Had to drop something off. I’m heading out again. I’ll be back later.”

“I’ve placed the necessary crew’s orders. They will be delivered within the day.”

“Excellent. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

She shook her head and tapped the elevator console. “Nothing I can’t get later. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

Shepard nodded and strode away from the elevator with confident steps. The elevator closed and descended to the crew quarters. Exiting the elevator, Miranda crossed the quarters to her office.

EDI announced. “Commander Shepard has exited the Normandy. XO Lawson has the deck.”

Miranda waved her hand over the sensor for her office and stepped inside. She paused, brow furrowed as she curiously looked at the items on her bed passed her console. She had not left anything out. Slowly approaching the bed, she stopped at the foot.

A new white Cerberus catsuit - similar to the one ruined back on Illium - lay folded and pressed at the edge of the bed. Propped against the outfit rested an expensive and rare bottle of Asari wine.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Shepard closed his eyes, sighing deeply as he tilted his head back under the hot water spray of his personal shower. Citadel shops closed for the evening, the Normandy half empty from the shore leave and the Commander attempted to wash more blood from his hands.

While gathering the necessary supplies and upgrades, Garrus accompanied him and slyly asked for a favor. Over the last few weeks, Shepard pressed the turian about events of the past, the times he missed while dead. Garrus offered little at first but slowly opened and relayed some of his adventures, including the loss of his team. Sidonis, a former teammate, betrayed Garrus and the team to a band of mercenaries; the team died.

Garrus, however, survived the betrayal and sought vengeance. How could Shepard deny Garrus that release? Together, they tracked and investigated, finally threatening a Volus into revealing a contact for Sidonis, a man named Harkin.

Shepard remembered the name from his time with the Specters but he couldn’t place it. Before heading to the warehouse to meet Harkin, Shepard secured back up – Grunt. Blue Suns and Mechs greeted them at the warehouse. Like brothers-in-arms with little words needed, soldiers to the core they fought, circled and destroyed their enemies. Strong mech fire pinned them at one point. Grunt bravely charged and drew the fire, taking heavy hits while Garrus and Shepard blasted the mech with their heaviest fire power. The mech spun quickly and fired at Garrus. The turian ducked behind cover in time but not before two stray bullets grazed his armor.

Similar shots penetrated Shepard’s shields, dropping his defenses. A Blue Suns sniper capitalized on the opportunity and fired at Shepard’s head. The shot whizzed through the air grazing Shepard’s cheek and tearing open the flesh. He ducked down, holding back his cry as the flesh tore open, bled for a second then instantly cauterized from the heat.

Under the faucet, Shepard tilted his scarred and wounded cheek up into the water to rinse and wash away any debris. Cautiously, he touched the opened wound, carefully using a disinfectant soap before rinsing it clean. He was lucky. Very lucky.

In the field, Shepard refused the medi-gel packet. The wound was not life threatening and the medi-gel could be better served for a more serious injury. Grunt destroyed the mech while Garrus aimed through his sniper scope and blew the head off of the Blue Suns Sniper. With the protection gone, Garrus easily intimidated the needed information from Harkin, even convinced him to set up a meeting with Sidonis. Shepard stopped Garrus from killing Harkin, barely. To make his point, Garrus head butted then kneed Harkin in the lower abdomen; Harkin was lucky.

As they exited the warehouse, Grunt eyed the gash on Shepard’s cheek that stretched from the corner of his lip to his ear. The krogan nodded his approval. “Battle scars prove worth.”

Shepard smirked and then winced at the pull on his cheek. “I got enough for an army then. Tell me, Garrus, how does it look?”

Garrus shook his head. “Doesn’t help you at all. I’ll still be getting all the women at the bar.”

Shepard turned off the water to the shower then reached for the white towel setting on the counter. He dried his hair then body and legs before dabbing his face carefully. The white towel stained red along the line of his cheek. Sighing, he wrapped the towel around his waist then walked to the sink, leaning over the counter to inspect his face in the mirror.

Reaching up, he touched the sensitive and swollen skin. The flesh beneath the scar glowed a faint orange, a reminder of the cybernetics inside his body. He hated that reminder. Was he even human anymore? Or machine.

Garrus and Shepard traveled alone to find Sidonis. Shepard tried every charm, every tactic to talk Garrus out of shooting Sidonis. On the Citadel, if caught, C-Sec controlled the law; Murder was a criminal offense. Sidonis’s crimes on Omega weren’t even crimes by Omega standards. No matter his words, Garrus insisted. Shepard helped his friend, his brother. With no blood siblings, Garrus, Tali, Grunt … some members of his crew filled that familial void. He couldn’t deny Garrus.

In the aftermath, Garrus felt relief. Shepard felt disgust. In his history, he made decisions that cost lives; he never made them lightly. Numerous occasions, he drew a weapon and fired first. But it was always on armed or dangerous individuals who threatened his immediate safety. The murder of Sidonis … more assassination. A set up. Sneaky. Secretive and sly. It wasn’t how Shepard was used to things.

Exhaling slowly, Shepard ducked his head from the mirror and straightened. He picked up the packet of medi-gel and tore it open. Squeezing a generous amount onto his finger, he looked up to the mirror and slowly applied the gel along the length of the horrific gash on his cheek. The gel cooled then tingled as it healed.

He applied a second layer then discarded the empty medi-gel packet. Exiting the bathroom, he gripped his sore shoulder and rolled it slowly. The bandages discarded for his shower lay on the floor by his armor. Another lucky point – he didn’t jar or hurt his shoulder other than the usual soreness from firing his weapon. The high powered assault rifle packed a strong kick.

He padded down the stairs from his office to the sleeping quarters. Movement caught the corner of his eye and he glanced to his right quickly, pausing in his stride. Miranda sat on the couch in his quarters, legs crossed and an arm draped casually over the back of the couch. He smirked. “Snooping around?”

“Checking up,” she responded with a small smile. “If you have a clean bandage, I can rewrap your shoulder.”

“Thanks. There’s one over by the bed.” He responded simply. Intentionally, he kept his left cheek hidden from her though realistically, he knew he couldn’t hide it long. “So what are you doing here?” He side stepped the pile of discarded armor in the middle of the room and stepped over the greaves as he reached for the pair of snug standard grade boxers he previously laid out on the bed.

Miranda turned from him to search the bedside stand for a clean bandage. “I … wanted to thank you. For the gift.”

Unashamed, he dropped the towel and stepped into the boxers, running his thumbs around the band to ease them up then adjusted himself. “Gift. What gift?”

Confused, she turned to face him with bandage in hand. “You mean you …” She trailed off at his grin and rolled her eyes. “Ass.”

“Aw, that’s the thank you I get?” He joked then sighed at her frown. He reached up to touch his left cheek. “It’s not that bad.”

“What the hell happened?” She closed the distance between them quickly, tossing the bandage onto the bed. Standing before him, she pinched his chin and turned his head to better see his left cheek. Using a single finger, she wiped away some of the excess medi-gel and gathered the stray droplets of blood.

“What can I say? Everyone is trying to kill me.”

“This isn’t funny.”

He shrugged. “Garrus asked me to help him out with something. So I found Grunt and the three of us went after some Blue Suns. The mech got a little friendly, blew my shields down. Thought we got all the Suns, but there was still a sniper. He took the shot when my shields drop. Couldn’t get into cover fast enough.”

“At least it’s not deep,” She whispered and shook her head. “Shepard, what’s the matter with you? Too often you’re staying out of cover. Trying to make the shot or be the hero. You need to survive. One of these days, you won’t be so lucky and that bullet will …” she trailed off and stepped back, bending down to pick up the towel from his feet and wipe her hands on it. She stood.

“Why, Ms. Lawson,” He stepped closer to her. “You sound worried.”

“Of course I’m worried. You’re here to fight the Collectors. A task you won’t complete if a simple merc blows your head off first. I can’t bring you back again; I don’t have the money, time or the technology here.” She turned her back on him to reach for the bandage on the bed.

“Merc’s not gonna blow my head off. Damn, you’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” She turned back to him, unraveling the bandage as she casually eyed the red wound on his cheek. “Looks like he came pretty close to me.”

“It’ll heal.” He stated casually and turned his head to watch her tightly band the shoulder. “And yes, I know the Doc told me no field work for a week. But I couldn’t say no to Garrus. This whole situation has been dogging him for a while now and he finally found what he was looking for.”

She wrapped the bandage tighter than usual, tucking and tying the ends. “Are you planning any more death defying stunts today or is this enough for the next few hours?”

“Depends on what you consider death defying.” He reached around her to grab the clean shirt from the bed. “My old Captain contacted me. He wants to talk.”

“Old Captain?” She frowned, eyes distant in thought as she searched her memory. “Anderson? Wait, you can’t seriously be considering meeting him.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She opened her mouth to respond but bit off the words before she spoke them.

At her silence, Shepard glanced back over his shoulder at her, eyes focused on her expression then body language. “Speak your mind, Miranda.” He smirked. “I can take it.”

“You’re out of your mind!” She exclaimed, pacing away from him then towards him. “Why would you give the Alliance anything? You say all the time that you’re not with Cerberus, but the fact remains that you are. You wear the colors, you wear the uniform, you fly on our ship, take our funds. You listen to the Illusive man and me.”

His expression hardened, jaw tense as he glared at the wall. Fist clenching then relaxing, he tapped at the console to open the drawer and pull out a clean pair of pants. He exhaled sharply through his nose as he stepped into the pants and jerked them up onto his hips.

“I know you don’t like to hear that,” she pressed confidently. “But is it really so bad?”

“I am not … Cerberus.” He snapped and faced her, tense. “I saw what you were doing. With the Creepers and Husks and the Rachni. And look at Jack. Cerberus tortured children.”

“That was a rogue cell, not all of Cerberus. As for torturing children, I believe that all human governments were doing it when we first discovered the effects of Element Zero and the advent of biotic abilities. We’ve been through this before. How many times are you going to throw it back? I could make the argument that rigorous marine training is also torture.”

Shepard paused in immediate reflection of his training. The physical fatigue, soreness and pain; the mental exhaustion, pressure and tension. “You can’t compare military training to what happened to those children.”

“Can’t you? If you are willing to torment one human, what makes another so different just because of age. I’m not condoning their actions in that cell. What happened to Jack was a mistake.”

“Why? Because of what happened to her or because Cerberus can’t control her.”

She considered the question carefully. “Both. Creating the perfect biotic, mastering the weapon is wise. The question becomes nature or nurture. Is Jack’s personality because of her biological psychology or because of how she was cultured in her childhood?”

“The same question applies to you.” He countered deeply. “Are you as you are because you were born this way psychologically, or is it a reaction to your environments in life?”

“You can’t compare us in that way. I’m not a sociopath. Not like Jack.” She dismissed easily. “We all have some psychological tendencies that could categorize us as either psychotic or sociopathic. Especially in the military or in my situation. For example, a sociopath shows no remorse, yes? When I shot Wilson … and felt no remorse, do you think that makes me a sociopath?”

He sighed. “Miranda ...”

“Answer the question, Shepard. Honestly,” She probed. “Does that make me a sociopath?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “No, I don’t think so but only because I know the background. Despite that … you still have moments where I think you’re psychotic.”

She arched a brow at the comment. “This coming from the man who epitomizes the term after the Blitz.”

“That was damn luck that I survived that.”

“Not luck,” she corrected simply. “Skill, drive and the will to survive. I killed Wilson, a man who betrayed my project and tried to destroy our patient, murder you. You held a defensive line against an almost endless line of foes, killing without remorse or hesitation. Yet you were labeled a hero, an icon, the epitome of human bravery. How would I be labeled?” She paused for a moment as she watched him for a reaction.

“You’re trying to justify a relationship between my personality and the personality that Cerberus cultivates. But it’s not the same.” He answered. “Maybe the man before … I think I had more in common with Cerberus than I thought. I tried to do the right thing, the best answer but in the end, I did the job. I went after the geth and Sovereign without hesitation and with little regard to collateral damage. Not that I sought it, but if it was unavoidable I didn’t worry about it. I left a friend behind to die and I god damn knew that!”

Miranda nodded. “You did what needed to be done to get the job done.”

“Before I died, I got everyone off that ship,” Shepard continued, eyes intense in emotion. “I snapped at Ash. She didn’t want to leave me but I told her to go. She had to get the crew off. Liara …” He sighed. “They all got off and I went after Joker. I got him off but I couldn’t get on that shuttle and … it wasn’t about me then, it was about my crew. After Alenko … I promised myself I’d never do that again. I would never leave a man behind. I’d stay behind, not them.” He stepped up to her. “Maybe before, I was the man Cerberus wanted, needed and maybe even where I should have been instead of with the Alliance. But now?” He slowly shook his head. “I’m not that man. I’m not so ruthless.”

“Aren’t you?” She inquired, knowingly. “Have you done nothing since your return that you could label as … ruthless?”

The most recent adventure with Garrus and Grunt sprung to his mind, not only the murder of Sidonis, but when he pulled the trigger on those Krogan bodyguards before they interrogated the Volus. He instantly dismissed the scenario as a single occurrence. He recalled the swift point-blank attack on the Eclipse commando on Illium who taunted Miranda or incapacitating Cathka on Omega by stabbing an electrical conduit into his back, killing him. Not caring when he watched Miranda shoot Wilson in the throat and accepted the act as normal.

Miranda watched the realization slowly cross onto his features. “Alliance soldier or Cerberus Operative … we both do what has to be done, when it has to be done. We just may have different ways of completing the task. Now if you’re absolutely insistent on going to see this Anderson, I’m coming with you and I suggest we bring someone else. You can’t go without backup.”

He shook his head to shake away the memories before addressing her. “What do you possibly think that Anderson or Udina could do? Plus, I don’t want you anywhere near them. They’re Alliance and you’re Cerber …” he trailed off and sighed at her arched brow. “As … am I.” He scowled and turned away to fetch his dented and pierced armor; it needed repair.

“What Cerberus does and what the Alliance does isn’t so different. The only difference is the public support. And that Cerberus isn’t tied down by politics. But what we seek is the same.”

“I don’t know everything Cerberus has done. But if it’s anything like what I do know …”

“I don’t know everything Cerberus has done either. The organization doesn’t work that way. I only know about the projects I was involved in. It’s a protection. If I’m captured or interrogated, then I can’t tell much of anything beyond my projects. And the Illusive man would know within moments of my capture and switch to damage control to remove or hide anything I could report. It’s ingenious, really.”

“I can’t believe he would just … leave you.”

“Not always. Sometimes Cerberus will attempt a rescue whether through force or finance. But usually, the operative is abandoned as expendable. You should know, the military does the same. The mission and survival first. To go back for everyone dooms you to failure.”

Knowing her words true, he remained quiet as he held the breastplate up to peer through the holes and bullet punctures. Streaks of artificial light pierced through the five holes. He shook his head and muttered, tossing the armor onto the bed. “It doesn’t mean I enjoy the thought of leaving anyone behind.”

“I never said I did.”

“I wasn’t accusing you.” He picked up the greaves and strapped them on, fastening the armor into place. “I’m going to go see Captain Anderson. If you want to come, come. He was my Captain and I trust him. He asked to see me. I owe him that.”

“Let me get my guns.” She turned from him and walked up the stairs.

“We’re not going to shoot anyone!” He called after her. Shaking his head at her silence, he pulled on the rest of his armor.

+++

Miranda followed Shepard into the elevator to the Presidium. Turning casually, she stood facing the door as it inched closed. Shepard tapped his foot. “I remember these damn things taking forever.” After a few seconds pause, he spoke again. “I wonder if the Council will want to see me?”

“Do you really care?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t. I told the fleet to focus on Sovereign. The Council died.” Reflective, silence lingered before he continued again. “Then after the fight, everyone wanted me to choose what happened to the Council. I didn’t really give a shit though. I hoped that they would rebuild it as it was.”

“Why? You had the opportunity to fill the Council with your choice and you turned it down?”

“I was too cynical. I didn’t think anyone would really listen to me. I didn’t think we should put a human on the council.”

Shocked, she looked to him. “What? Why not?”

Slowly shaking his head, he shifted his weight as the elevator inched upward. “That’s not the way we should join the Council. It would have only created animosity. You don’t strong-arm your way into that position after the devastating loss that just happened. If we wanted to gain the respect and trust of the other species, we had to prove that we weren’t in it for a power grab.”

“Hmm,” Miranda eyed the ticking console beside the elevator door, watching the slow ascent. “For hating red tape, you’re quite savvy with politics.”

“Good,” An unidentified female voice resounded from inside the elevator. “You’ll need it.”

Miranda drew her weapon, pointing in the direction of the voice on the opposite side of Shepard. Shepard stepped forward and spun quickly, drawing his side arm to aim at the back corner of the elevator shuttle.

A cloaked woman materialized in the shuttle. Kasumi leaned casually against the side of the elevator, her hood pulled low and hanging over her brow, casting shadows across her face. Her mouth visible, she smiled. “Hello, to all of you too.”

“Christ,” he muttered and sheathed his weapon. “What the hell are you doing, Kasumi? I could have shot you.”

Miranda’s eyes darted to Shepard and after a moment, she lowered her weapon even though she kept it in her grip. Kasumi glanced to Miranda before casually addressing Shepard. “I heard you were going to the embassy. Thought you could use some … backup.” With a tilt of the head, she peered at the other woman. “Miranda.”

“Goto,” The Operative greeted coolly, eyes focused as she finally holstered her weapon.

Shepard glanced between the two women. “Why do I get the feeling you two know each other?”

“Professionally,” Kasumi offered with casual delivery. “I believe it was … Clobaka?” A slow grin tugged at her lips.

“So, that was you.” Miranda crossed her arms over her chest as she eyed the thief with reservation.

“Did you have any doubt? Has anyone else broken into a Cerberus facility of that security level?”

Eyes on Kasumi, Miranda addressed Shepard. “Kasumi is the reason the Lazarus Project was on a space station and not planetary. It’s far easier to secure a space station.”

Kasumi nodded, proud. “You were hot information, Shepard. Cerberus knew it. Too bad I couldn’t get to you. Or did I?” She teased then quickly changed the conversation. “So, Shepard … would you rather me stay cloaked for your little meeting? Or maybe keep Operative Lawson company in the back?”

“I’m not familiar with your skills yet. How would you best suggest?”

Kasumi shrugged casually. “I can be cloaked. That way you have a card in your sleeve. And when I speak to Miranda, they’ll think she’s insane for talking to herself?”

“If I respond,” Miranda replied with suave calm.

Kasumi activated her cloak, disappearing from sight. Within ten seconds, the elevator door opened. Shepard stepped out of the elevator. Miranda followed him through the Presidium and to the embassies. When he entered, she lingered behind at the door, eyes scanning the room. Stepping aside from the door, she positioned herself near the door yet with her back to the wall, ensuring no entry surprised her.

“So, Miranda,” Kasumi’s smooth and playful voice vibrated through Miranda’s earpiece. “What have you been up to since we last met? Other than your interesting and expensive operation with Commander Shepard?”

Miranda reached up, casually sliding her fingers through her hair by her right ear as she adjusted the earpiece settled just inside the shell. “How did you find this frequency?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

Calmly, Miranda dropped her arm as she searched the surrounding area carefully with only her eyes.

“Trying to find me? My cloaking is very good.” Kasumi taunted playfully. “You won’t find me. The point is not to be found, you see. But don’t worry. I’m not far. Hmm … I wonder what they’re talking about?”

“What are you doing?” Miranda asked, eyes darting to Shepard nearly twenty feet away.

“Don’t act like you’re not curious.” Kasumi responded with a chuckle. “Let’s see how close I can get, hmm?”

Miranda bit back the objection on her tongue as she peered behind herself and then back towards Shepard. “How would you know what I am or am not curious about?”

“Oh … don’t be so coy,” Kasumi teased.

Miranda clenched her teeth though her expression showed little of the agitation she felt.

“Tsk tsk, don’t do that. Grinding your teeth. Horrible habit.”

Miranda exhaled slowly through her nose, calming the rising frustration. The door to the room opened; she tensed. Udina walked inside, ignoring the woman to the side as he approached Anderson and Shepard. Noting the tension rise, she took a step closer, protective.

“Easy now,” Kasumi soothed. “No need for a fight unless we have to have one. Hmm … Udina’s storming off to his office. Childish. Let’s see what he has to offer.”

“Where are you going?”

“To his office, of course. I’m sure he has some useful juicy tidbits on that terminal of his.” Silence a moment before Kasumi continued flirtatiously. “I promise, I’ll share.”

Miranda shook her head and glanced up at the high ceiling as if in silent prayer. Anderson and Shepard slowly walked from the main area out onto the balcony overlooking the Presidium. Shepard rested his forearms on the high ledge, casually leaning over in their discussion, back trustingly to the door.

Shepard turned slightly, bracing himself as he leaned into his side against the balcony ledge. After Anderson spoke, Shepard looked back over his shoulder at Miranda a moment before responding to Anderson. Miranda watched, interested but showed no other outward sign of her curiosity.

The door to the embassy opened and an Alliance officer entered, decorated and confident. Three soldiers flanked her as the woman glanced around the room. Miranda’s eyes narrowed, cautious as a distant but strong memory came to mind. Her fingers twitched and her hand hovered near her pistol holstered on her hip.

The Alliance captain paused in her stride, brow furrowed as she observed Anderson and Shepard. Slight movement caught the corner of her eyes and she glanced to her right before turning her head fully. Eyes searched then narrowed in recognition. “Lawson …” she drawled with a snarl.

The second the captain drew her weapon, Miranda drew her pistol, pointing right at the captain as her other hand flicked at the wrist. She pulsed with biotics. The soldiers drew their weapons as well, pointing at Miranda in calm and controlled focus. Unmoved, Miranda pivoted at the hip, arm extended as she stood sideways towards her foe – a smaller target. “Shepard …”

The Commander turned at the name and he quickly drew his weapon without hesitation as he pointed it towards the Alliance soldiers. Stepping down the stairs of the balcony, he aimed at the closest soldier. Anderson held up his hands. “Woah, everybody calm down. Put the guns away.”

“Mom,” Shepard whispered and instantly lowered his gun.

Hannah Shepard glanced to her son then back at Miranda. “So … the rumors are true then? She’s with you?”

“Rumors?” he inquired. “She’s on my squad. Cerberus brought me back. She brought me back. Mom, please. Lower your gun. She won’t shoot you.”

“Can’t do that, son. We have unfinished business.”

Udina stormed out of his office. “What in the hell is going on here!” He snapped and fisted his hands, bracing them on his hips.

“Just my job, Councilor.” Hannah stated. “Cerberus Operative. She’s eluded me for years.”

“You’ve got no proof of that,” Miranda stated flatly. Her aura intensified.

“Is that what you think?” Hannah challenged.

The soldiers aimed carefully at Miranda and when her aura intensified, one fired. She deflected the shot easily, absorbing it with her shields. Miranda flicked off the safety of her pistol. Commander Shepard stepped between them. “No, no don’t. Stop. Cease fire.” He placed himself in front of Miranda directly in front of his mother’s gun.

“This doesn’t concern you, John. Step aside.”

“I can’t do that. She’s my XO. I need her.”

“So it is true then? Cerberus is kidnapping the colonists. Are you doing it?”

“What? No!” Shepard denied. “Cerberus isn’t behind those attacks. It’s the Collectors.”

“The Collectors?” Hannah frowned and stood straight, though her gun still extended. “Really?”

“I saw them. And then we were on their ship. We got intel that it was a derelict ship so we infiltrated for some information on them. It’s the Collectors. And they’re coming for Earth. They’re working for the Reapers.”

“What absolute rubbish!” Udina exclaimed with a dramatic slice of the hand. “Everyone knows the Reapers are a myth. And the Collectors? Another myth.”

“Don’t be such a bumbling fool,” Miranda countered with a sneer. “You were here and witnessed Sovereign. The Reapers are real. The Collectors are real. And while you’ve all been here dancing around, sipping wine and chasing lies, we have been going after the real issue. So if you’re going to have that idiotic attitude, just get out of our way and talking.”

Udina bristled at the disrespectful address. Pride wounded, he waved a hand towards Miranda. “She’s Cerberus. They’re terrorists. Arrest her.”

One of the soldiers flinched and step forward. Shepard drew his gun again and pointed it right at the man’s head. “Don’t move. Nobody move. Look, I was under the impression this was the human embassy, not the Alliance embassy. We are all here because we’re doing what we think is best for humanity. We’re on the same god damn team.”

Two soldiers and Udina spoke at the same time, their voices muffled as they melded. Hannah interrupted. “Enough! John, are you sure of what you saw? You’re sure they’re coming.”

“I have no doubts. Cerberus knew what was happening, something was wrong. They knew the Reaper threat. It’s why they brought me back. Miranda and I … we know the most about the Collectors. I need her on my squad if we’re going to not only succeed but have a shot at coming out of this alive.”

Hannah paused as she searched her son’s expression. She lowered her pistol, holstering it. “For you, John, we can put this aside until later.” All but one of the soldiers followed her lead, the man at the end nearest the door glared at Miranda, stance still hostile.

Udina rumbled. “Raise your weapons! I will not have Cerberus in my embassy.”

“Not now, Udina,” Hannah tossed back and stepped to Shepard, ignoring the simmering and reddening Udina. She pinched her son’s chin, tilting his head one way then the next. “Let’s take a look at you. Your eyes aren’t right.”

Shepard chuckled. “I think she did a pretty good job. They had to do more to make sure my eyes worked. They are just a little more blue than they were.”

“They used to be grey, like your father’s.” Hannah stated and released his chin. “So I don’t even get a message letting me know you’re alive? I have to hear through some random intel on a screen of an Alliance database? And I hear from Ashley Williams that you’re working for Cerberus? Did you at least send word to your father?”

“No, I didn’t,” he replied sheepishly. “I … I woke up and I was thrown into a mission. I just didn’t think to …”

“Didn’t think to …” Hannah shook her head. “Just like your father. He’s involved in a deadly firefight and when finished he doesn’t think to tell me he’s alright.”

Miranda holstered her weapon, though her biotics still pulsed as the blue aura swirled around her left hand. She eyed the soldiers cautiously. The armed and readied soldier glared intensely at Miranda. Suddenly his body tensed, eyes widening. “I wouldn’t get any ideas if I were you,” Kasumi said. Her cloak flickered and she came into view. She stood directly behind the soldier, her pistol pressed against the base of his skull as she spoke near his ear. “Now … let’s put that little gun away.”

The other soldiers drew their weapons, aiming at Kasumi. “Drop the weapon!” one commanded roughly. Another followed. “Drop it. Weapon on the ground.”

Never intimidated, Kasumi grinned. “Well look at that. I suppose it’s ok for them to point a gun at you but you can’t reciprocate the gesture.” Kasumi spun quickly, placing the soldier between herself and the others, gun still at the base of his skull. “Now, Sweetheart … why don’t you put that gun down?”

“Go to hell,” the soldier snarled out of the corner of his mouth. “Shoot me then, you’ll be dead the moment you pulled the trigger.”

“You have a lot of faith in your friends’ accuracy.” Kasumi said, amused.

Shepard growled. “Guns down!” None listened as tensions rose near breaking point, fingers twitched at triggers just waiting to fire.

Miranda punched a fist to the ground, sending a shockwave out in all directions. The force rippled through the ground, cracking random floor tiles as it knocked every soldier and both Shepards to the ground in a crash of metal and rattling of armor. Kasumi deftly dodged the blow and leapt then landed gracefully on her feet. With the soldiers disarmed, Miranda reached out with a hand. Tendrils of her aura extended and picked up the lost weapons of the three men, lifting the guns into the air. She twisted her wrist, slowly fisting her fingers as the tendrils turned the guns and slowly crushed them with its force. Her hand relaxed, fingers splaying; the guns dropped to the floor with a clack. Sweat beaded at her brow and she controlled her breath –she panted only a second – to maintain the air of control despite the exertion.

Hannah lifted up onto her elbows as she watched the guns twirl then crush under the biotic power before dropping to the floor, one hitting a soldier’s head. Arching a brow, she glanced at her son. “If she was Alliance, I’d like her.”

Shepard smirked. “But only if she was Alliance.” He pushed to his feet and rolled his wounded shoulder. “Hey,” he called to Miranda. “Was that really necessary?”

She shrugged casually. “Sorry,” No sympathy or apology in her voice or eyes despite the words. “I was sick of having a bloody gun pointed at my head.”

“What are you waiting for? Get her!” Udina demanded. The soldiers hesitated.

“There’s a brilliant plan. Go ahead, boys. Get her.” Kasumi taunted with a smile; the soldiers glared but otherwise stood cautiously and showed no signs of attacking. “What? That weak little woman too much for you men?”

“You keep interesting company, John.” Hannah commented as she pushed up onto her feet, eyes darting between Kasumi and Miranda.

Shepard grinned proudly. “My squad is the best I could ask for.”

“Best?” Hannah challenged. “Better than Williams? Alenko?”

“No,” he answered smoothly with a shake of his head. “It’s all the same squad. I have Garrus and I’ll get Tali and Liara. Ash is just … it’s complicated.”

“So she tells me. She cares about you, Shepard. And she’s worried.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw her a week ago,” Hannah turned from her soldiers, leading her son towards the balcony for a bit more privacy. “She told me about Horizon. It shocked her, seeing you on Horizon and verifying your involvement with Cerberus. You know what she’s like. She loves you, John.”

“I … I know,” he sighed, resigned as he turned to lean against the balcony. “I just … don’t love her the same way.”

Frowning, Hannah turned towards her son, propping her hip against the ledge as she crossed her arms. “What do you mean? You sent me messages about her.”

“I know.” He rocked slightly, elbows bending then straightening in push-up fashion once then again. “I know, but it’s different now. I just … I don’t love her like that.”

“That doesn’t just change, John. Not unless …” Realization dawning, Hannah sighed. “Christ, there’s someone else isn’t there?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated. You’ve got to stop doing this. Every other ship, every other mission. Who is it now?”

“It’s different this time.”

“That’s what you always say.” Hannah chided. “You always say it’s different. But is it really?”

“Yeah,” He answered confidently and tilted his head just slightly to glance towards Miranda out of the corner of his eye. “It’s different.”

Her eyes instantly follow Shepard’s gaze. “You can’t be serious, John. Her? Lawson?”

“I don’t know. It’s different with her.”

“You’ve got to stop doing this, John. You’re getting involved with women when you’re under a lot of stress. You’re not thinking things through. You’ve been through a lot. Have you ever considered … not sleeping with the women on your crew. Novel idea, I know. But you may want to consider it.”

Shepard grumbled and turned from his mother to rest his arms on the ledge.

“If your mission is as important as you say it is, you can’t be distracted.”

“I know that,” he responded firmly. “Don’t you think I know that? I’ve been through enough of these suicide scenarios to understand that. Plus, you can’t preach to me about this. You met Dad on one of these kind of missions and you two …”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” she interrupted though couldn’t stop the small smirk from forming on her lips. “Your father and I were an exception, as is proven by your streak of broken hearts. Plus he and I did not actually pursue anything until after we were out of certain death.” She reached out to touch his cheek. “You look just like your father when you glare like that, stubborn.”

He smiled softly. “Come by my ship, tonight. Supper? We can talk. Catch up.”

“I’ll meet you outside. We’ll go to one of the restaurants. Just you and me. Nothing funny.”

“Nothing funny,” he verified with a nod.

“Good. I’ll see you in a few hours then.” She turned from him and approached her men. “Come on, boys. Fall out.”

“But Ma’am, we …”

“I said, Fall out, Corporal.” Hannah interrupted with a stern glare.

He nodded, “Ma’am,” then turned and followed her from the embassy. One soldier lingered behind, hostile stare focused on Miranda for a second before continuing out after his Commander. Anderson soothed a steaming Udina as Shepard gathered his crew.

+++

Shepard turned off the steaming stream of water pouring from the shower nozzle then reached to the side for the crisp white towel. Drying his body then legs, he wrapped the towel around his waist before walking towards the mirror. He wiped a palm over the glass, clearing the steam so he could see his reflection. Picking up a small bowl to the side, he swirled a soft bristled brush along the soap inside, creating a rich lather before massaging the cream onto his cheeks, jaw, chin, then neck. Using a sharp straight razor, he tilted his head, stretched the skin and drew the sharp blade along the lather with a scratchy scrape.

Mind clear and relaxed during the slow shaving routine, he cleaned the two day stubble from his face. Sporadically, he dipped the razor into the hot water-filled sink to rinse away the lather before calculating another careful draw of the blade. Using the bottom of the towel around his waist, he wiped his face then drained the water from the sink. He carefully rinsed the razor blade before setting it aside to dry, ignoring the remnants of soap film and stubble clinging to the sides of the sink. Picking up a small vial, he dabbed the top onto his hands and rubbed them together then rubbed his hands over his face and neck. A mild but masculine musk; his father used the same. Flicking off the light, he returned to his room and changed into a comfortable casual outfit for dinner.

Before leaving the ship, Shepard descended to the third deck and strode into Miranda’s office. He entered confidently, pausing just inside as Miranda tapped at the console on her desk. “Commander,” she greeted in usual professional calm. “What can I do for you?”

“How’s the Normandy?”

“Repairs are going well,” she responded and tapped two buttons on the console. “Estimated completion within 48 hours.”

“Excellent. Anything else you can offer? More ideas for upgrades?”

“I’ve already submitted what I could for the planetary scanners.”

He smiled and sat in the chair across from her desk. “That’ll be a big help when we start mining again.” Watching her a moment, he leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. “Ya got a minute?”

“Usually,” she answered slyly then leaned forward with a small smile. “Of course.” She clasped her hands together on the desk.

He returned the smile a moment. “Just wanted to talk to you about the embassy.”

“Ah,” She leaned back and pushed to her feet. “Which part?”

Shepard watched her pace to the window. “Start with how you know my mother?”

Her back to him, she gazed out the window at the busy docking area of the Citadel. “I believe you have an engagement. That story can wait for another time.”

“I’d like to hear it now,” he countered with curiosity. “I’ve got a few minutes until I have to go.”

“There’s not much to say,” She finally said and turned to face him though she kept her physical distance. “I was stationed in a cell in an underground research station. I was a group leader at the time, in charge of a small section of the research project. Hannah Shepard led the Alliance assault on our base.”

“She recognized you,” he pressed. “If you were just a group leader, she wouldn’t have known you by name. How did she recognize you? How did you get away?”

“We saw the Alliance coming the moment they entered the system. The station operative was crashing the computer system, saving the research before destroying the evidence. The Alliance found us because we had a mole. Someone who worked for Cerberus for years and sold us out.” With a sigh, she sat in the chair facing the window, back to Shepard again. “I was going to leave the station … was right by the escape shuttle, but I found out who it was. Who sold us out. I did what I had to do.”

“You went after him.” He coaxed. “Instead of leaving the base.”

She nodded. “The Alliance was already in the base. I killed a few on my way; I don’t know who. Random soldiers, grunts. But I knew who the mole was. Found the bug in their room. Saw the thing planted under the table in a room I was passing. They activate the homing sensor and within 24 hours, we had an Alliance vessel in our system.” Miranda crossed her legs as she settled back into the chair. “The Alliance moved fast, our defenses only held them for so long. They attacked from the air, took out our turrets and in less than an hour they were inside. When I found the traitor, he was in the mess hall standing with other Alliance soldiers. Must have thought he was safe. He was wrong.”

“So my mother was in the mess hall.”

Miranda nodded again. “Yes. Talking to him. I’ll never forget him. He wasn’t on my squad for that mission, but I worked with him before. I thought he was trustworthy. He was a brilliant mind, a scientist. And there he was, with his forked tongue standing ten meters away talking to Captain Hannah Shepard. I knew her by reputation. I made it my personal mission to learn the various Alliance Captains on vessels that I may come in contact with. Had dossiers.”

“You had a dossier on my mother?”

“Not just her,” she explained and glanced back over her shoulder. “I had one on Captain Anderson too among others.”

He stood and walked slowly towards her, crossing his arms and leaning against the hull as he looked at her. “So what did you do when you saw him in the mess hall?”

“The only thing I could do. I killed him.”

Curious, he pushed off the wall. “You killed him? How? He was with the Alliance soldiers.”

“I know.” She turned her eyes from the window to Shepard. “And I entered from a secret passage through the wall. They didn’t see me. I aimed and took the shot. My pistol is accurate. He was right next to your mother. I used a simple shockwave, knocked them off their feet and was able to elude them quite easily.”

He smirked. “Bragging?”

“Just the truth,” she responded with a casual shrug and stood. “I would suggest not recruiting your mother to join us on this operation. There is already enough tension on board.”

“Don’t plan on asking her. Having your mother around can really put a damper on the sex life.” He teased with a broad grin as he tilted his head to admire her.

She arched a brow, stoically responding. “What sex life?”

“Tease,” he joked and uncrossed his arms.

She offered a small smirk before returning to her desk. Standing at its side, she tapped three buttons on the console. “Jacob’s still repairing your armor but there are alternative sets you can wear.”

“I’m not planning on wearing any.”

Shocked, she faced him. “What? Why not?”

He laughed. “I’m going to dinner, not war.”

She extended an arm towards him. “Half the galaxy is trying to kill you.” Her hand dropped to her side. “Why would you go out without any protection?”

Hand patting the sidearm on his hip, he glanced down at the weapon. “I’m not going without protection.”

Expression blank though eyes intense, she leaned forward slightly. “I don’t have patience for recklessness.” She turned her head slightly, looking away from him before shaking her head. Walking passed him, she stood by the window, back to him.

His eyes followed her and he pivoted on his foot to step behind her. He reached out with a calloused hand, fingers gently gliding from her middle back, down her spine. “You wanted me like I was. I succeeded because of this. Recklessness makes me a god damn hero.”

She snorted with a sneer. “I don’t have patience for bloody heroes either.”

He stepped closer, hand moving from her back to her hip. “So how do you put up with me?” He smirked, eyes on her waist then slowly raking up her back to settle on the soft flesh of her neck.

Silence lingered uncomfortably long before she whispered. “I don’t know.”

Shepard tightened his hold on her waist, his thumb pressing along her spine at the side, pushing on the tense muscles. She stiffened at the touch but otherwise remained still, peering over her shoulder. He stepped closer, his other hand gripping her waist as well as he pressed both thumbs into the muscles along either side of her spine. Muscles clenched, she turned her head just slightly. His eyes stared at her, focused on her profile as he pushed up with his thumbs then forcefully drew them down the sides of her spine, massaging the knots from the muscles in slow deliberate force. Her breath caught silently in her throat, eyes fluttering a moment. Ducking her head, her back stretched catlike at the ministrations and manipulation of the long ignored tension.

Embolden, his hands shifted, palms pressing up her waist to the lines of her ribs then down, thumbs tracing the tense lines beside her spine back down to her hips. His ego swelled at the small sigh slipping past her lips. He inched closer, absorbing the familiar scent and sensation. Eyes closed, her shoulders relaxed and feet staggered slightly for balance. His right hand abandoned her side to slowly tickle calloused fingers up her spine and gently sweep the hair away from one shoulder; her head tilted back. He lowered his head, parted lips hovering over the smooth flesh. The hand on her waist tightened as the other brushed gently over her opposite shoulder, down her arm and finally around her waist to splay on her abdomen.

Breathing slowly, she savored patiently at the slow attention and subconsciously obeyed his cue at the soft pressure on her stomach; she stepped back into him. He rewarded her, his other hand joining the first on her stomach as his mouth slowly trailed up to her ear, never touching but teasing warmth. Involuntarily, she shivered.

When she shifted in his arms to turn, his hold loosened as he guided her with his hands. Splaying his palms on her back, he held her close, refusing to release her as he searched her expression then her eyes. Breath shallow and slightly quickened, Miranda held his gaze and slowly reached up. Soft cool finger tips brushed the clean line of his jaw before her palm cupped his cheek. He pulled her closer, hip to hip as his mouth hovered over hers in anticipation. Tension simmered then coiled as desire knotted his stomach but he waited, resisting as he drew the same winding need within her.

Her back arched at his tug on her lower back and she leaned up towards his mouth, pausing a second. The hand on his cheek slid behind his neck, fingers playfully stroking his short hair, tickling as she teased it opposite its natural growth direction. He shivered; her other hand gripped his bicep.

He closed the last inch between them, slowly wrapping his lips around hers. The breath expelled from her lungs at the touch and he tilted his head. The kiss simple and pure relief, a release of the months of tension in a tender moment; Shepard parted his lips to breath, inhaled then exhaled a moment before he kissed her again. She matched his slow and deliberate kiss. Beyond desire, beyond passion to a deeper and burning emotional release, Shepard held her lips with his, soft and warm.

Breathless, she pulled back from him slightly. The hand on his neck eased to his jaw and she brushed her thumb over his moistened lips. He pursed his lips, kissing her thumb as his eyes intensely held hers. Hands stroking, Miranda slid the hand on his jaw down to his chest as the other snaked up around the back of his neck; she pulled him closer.

Shepard complied, lips sealing with hers. Tongues dueled, though neither claimed supremacy in the searing intensity of emotional release. The sensation of eternity in only a few seconds time, Shepard slowed the kiss, tender and teasing as the passion dissipated. Panting softly, he searched her eyes. His hand eased along her back, thumb teasingly brushing against her spine.

She shivered at the teasing contact and replied by swirling her finger along the back of his ear; he shivered as well. She slipped her hand down to his shoulder, and he reluctantly released her. At a loss for words – for what could he say after such a moment – he stepped back and adjusted his shirt. He watched her as he backed towards the door and offered a boyish smile, a quirk of the lips before leaving the room.


	14. Chapter 14

Miranda entered the tech lab, striding confidently across the floor to Mordin’s table. “You called?”

Mordin glanced up from his current experiment before turning his eyes down again as he slowly poured a steaming green liquid from one test tube into a beaker containing a blue liquid. “Yes,” he stated in usual clipped and tenor tone. Picking up a glass stirring rod, he plunged the tip into the mixed liquid. The glass tip melted slowly, liquefying. “Huh.” Removing the stirring stick, he watched curious, quick amphibian-like lids blinking as the glass dangled and dripped. He twirled his wrist to prevent the glass from dripping too far. The tip solidified, froze and then cracked. “Interesting.” He set the stick down beside the beaker in a non-reactive tray.

“What is that?” Miranda inquired, standing a few feet back from the experiment to avoid any surprises.

“I will submit my report when completed … but I am working on an improvement to the ammunition for our weapons. Something suitable that would affect Collectors. Yes, Collectors more than other species. You … myself. Flesh, blood. We have ammunition perfect against flesh. Collectors? Not the same. Combination, exoskeleton and armor. Harder to penetrate.”

Miranda nodded. “So you’ve found something that will disintegrate armor? What? Weaponizing acid?”

“Precisely.” Mordin agreed. “The key is to get the acid contained within the chamber and to explode on impact. Not to burn through the owned gun, or worse yet … shatter on the user while taking cover, or damage. Tricky. Very tricky.” He paused and squinted as he eyed Miranda. “But I’m getting close.” He threw a hand into the air and turned from her to walk towards the cupboard. “That is not why I called. I have your chip.”

Wordlessly, Miranda stepped around the table to the cupboard as Mordin pulled out the envelope she gave him and another identical to it except for a tear at the corner. He presented the slightly torn envelope first. “The duplicate. As requested, they are … identical.”

Taking the offered envelope, she pinched the edges to peer inside. “Is there any way to differentiate the chip outside of the envelope?”

Mordin shook his head. “I would suggest not mixing them up. Though … if you have an acute sense of sight, there is a slight difference in the shading of the chip. I could not match the color exactly.” With index and thumb, she pinched open each envelope to peer inside at the chips. Mordin watched with determined intensity. “I won’t approach Shepard with this … assignment. But if he comes to me and asks me to search for bugs, as his doctor … I’m obliged to comply.” He inhaled sharply. “I will … remove all bugs.”

“I would expect nothing less, Solus.” Miranda answered smoothly. She turned from the Salarian, slipping the envelopes up her sleeves to hide them and left the tech lab. While waiting at the elevator, Jacob exited the armory, a visor in his hands – Shepard’s visor.

Jacob turned to the elevator and acknowledged Miranda with a curt nod of the head. “I was just coming to see you, Miranda.” He handed the visor to her. “Thought maybe you could take a look at this.” When she took the visor he continued. “Shepard dropped it off a couple days ago. Said the range finder wasn’t working. Tech stuff is more up your alley, thought you could give it a shot cuz I’m out of ideas.”

Inquisitively, she inspected the visor, turning it over in her hands before touching one of the sensors on the right ear piece. “What exactly did he say was happening?”

“Just said the range finder wasn’t working. And the radar was inaccurate. Thought maybe it was a jamming signal on the last job, but that wasn’t it.”

“I’ll look into it. Thanks Jacob,” she stated professionally then addressed the AI. “EDI, where is Commander Shepard?”

“Commander Shepard is ashore.”

“What? For how long?”

“Four hours, twenty three minutes.”

Turning eyes to Jacob, she commented. “I don’t remember him leaving. Do you know where he was going?”

“Not sure, exactly,” Jacob answered with a shrug. “But he had that Drell with him. Look, I know he’s part of the squad and the Commander won’t hear anything about it, but I don’t trust him. I’m not saying we all don’t have our blemishes but having an assassin on board … I don’t like it.”

“There are a lot of things happening on this mission that warrant caution and reservation. Sadly, the commander does not often believe in that approach.”

Jacob nodded in agreement. “So … what’s the order?”

“Your orders are simple,” Miranda explained calmly. “They haven’t changed. You do what you were assigned. And keep your eyes open. This mission is far too important for … carelessness to turn us off course.”

With a firm understanding, he nodded curtly then saluted before returning to the armory. Miranda glanced at the visor in her hand before waving her hand over the sensor for the elevator.

+++

_Flashback_

Shepard stood in the Port Cargo area of the fourth deck and he stared at the Krogan tank with the young “perfect” Krogan soldier inside. Slowly approaching the console, he glanced down at the buttons and skimmed his fingers over the controls.

“So … gonna open the tank?”

Shepard glanced behind him, eyeing the convict, Jack, with disinterest before turning his attention back to the Krogan. “I’m thinking of it.”

“Crazy son of a bitch,” Jack muttered and leaned back against the metal hull of the ship, planting a single boot against the paneling behind her with a thud and crossed her arms in a cocky display of boredom.

“Don’t you have some files to be reading?”

“Cerberus Cheerleader hasn’t delivered them yet. You promised me those reports, Shepard.” She pushed off the wall with her foot and pointed an accusing finger towards Shepard. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Shepard responded calmly, eyes on the tank. “These things take time. Miranda will get you the reports.”

“It’s been almost two days. I don’t wait. Waiting … pisses me off.”

“What do you want me to say? You’ll get the reports you want. Chances are they aren’t just available for anyone to find. Miranda probably has to pull some strings to get them.”

Jack huffed. “You know what else pisses me off? That you’re always defending that whore when she’s a two timing lying tit.”

Shepard laughed. “You don’t even know her.”

“Bullshit.” She spat. “I know Cerberus better than you … better than any of these assholes on this ship. They’ll tell you anything you want to hear and when your back is turned?” She punched a fist into her open palm. “Game … over.”

“You let me worry about Cerberus. I just need you angry and ready to kill some Collectors.”

“Oh, I’m angry,” She affirmed with intensity.

“That’s not all you are,” a second female voice responded smoothly from the door of the cargo bay. Miranda stepped inside, eyeing the convict with distrust and disdain.

“Watch it,” Jack threatened, closing the distance between her and the Cerberus Operative, pointing a finger in Miranda’s face. “Where’s my god damn reports?”

Eyes narrowed, Miranda matched Jack’s challenge. “You’ll get them when I have them.”

“I better,” Jack sneered. “You know what, Shepard? You should let that overgrown lizard out. Especially now. Maybe he’ll rip the bitch’s head off and I won’t have to.” Without further comment, Jack stormed from the bay.

Miranda twisted slightly at the waist to watch her leave. “I really wish you just let me shoot her on that prison ship.”

Shepard smirked. “That would have been too easy. Plus, you’ve seen what she can do. If we can channel her anger and power into the Collectors … we’ve got a fighting chance at this. Liara was vital in my last mission. I need a powerful biotic.”

“And what exactly am I?”

“A powerful biotic,” he responded with ease, smirk still in place as he glanced at her over his shoulder. “But it doesn’t hurt to have more than one. Especially if we’re really going after the Collectors.” He sighed heavily and turned. “Miranda, I need all the help I can get. We need a damn army if we’re going to do this. I’m going to open the tank.” He motioned with his thumb towards the Krogan tank behind him.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, Commander, I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”

“You heard me just fine,” He faced the tank again. “I’m going to open it. Imagine. I had Wrex the last time around and he was … there’s nothing like having a Krogan on your side.”

“Perhaps,” she countered calmly, her tone giving no hint of her alarm at the prospect. “Wouldn’t it be easier to pay a mercenary? We can go to Omega and get one without trouble. It would be far more reliable, don’t you think? We have no idea what will come from that tank. You don’t know his condition, how it will respond. You risk your own life and the integrity of this ship.”

“So that’s your vote then. No.”

“Of course, it’s no!” she exclaimed. “You would have to be out of your mind to think opening that tank is a good idea. Let’s go, Shepard. After some sleep, you’ll open your eyes and realize that I’m right.”

Silent for nearly a minute, Shepard finally nodded. “Alright, Lawson. You win. I’ll sleep on it.” Without a glance behind, he followed Miranda from the room. Four hours later, Shepard returned while the Normandy crew slept. He opened the tank.

+++

“And I don’t regret it,” Shepard said, simply and leaned back in the bench in the VIP room of the crowded bar. “Grunt’s been a great addition to my crew.”

Hannah Shepard slowly shook her head. “How is it that you manage to get such a … rag tag bunch of misfits to actually follow you on this insane mission?”

Chuckling, Shepard shrugged casually. “Money. Bribes. There’s always an incentive. You just need to find the right trigger to get them on your side.”

“Very true,” Hannah agreed with a slow nod. “Same can be said about getting through red tape. Money, bribes, blackmail. There’s always a way, just depends on how dirty you’re willing to get.” Draping her arm over the back of her bench, she crossed her legs as she evaluated her son. “I’m surprised Lawson stays with you. Sounds like you ignore her opinions more often than agree with them. She’s not a woman used to being ignored. She’s dangerous, John.”

“I know. She stays on because she has to. I’m her pet project and so is this mission. She’s determined, focused. She doesn’t fail. To walk is to give up, that’s not her way.”

“What about this Jack? Can you trust her or is she as hostile to you as you make her sound.”

“I have to trust her. She’s on my squad. I fulfilled my end of the bargain; I gave her the documents she wanted. Now she owes me. And if she doesn’t pull through, then I’ll take care of it.”

Quiet a few seconds, Hannah searched her son’s expression. “You’ve changed so much.”

Bringing the glass to his lips, Shepard poured the burning pink liquor down his throat. “I do what I have to do.”

“Within reason, John.” Hannah stated patiently. “I remember when you were named a Spectre. Your father and I were so proud of you. I didn’t have access to all your reports and what you were doing, but I was able to see what the Alliance had. I saw you changing, the decisions you made and especially how you started to respond to Alliance superior officers.”

“It became quite clear to me that I had to just make my own decisions and do what needed to be done. I was made a Spectre.” He leaned forward, intense. “A Spectre! First human entrusted. Yeah, so maybe it was the Council throwing us a bone, but I was still made a Spectre. And here’s the Alliance trying to boss me around? It doesn’t work that way. I had a mission. I had a purpose and here I kept getting these ridiculous side points from Hackett. I wasn’t there to clean up a mess. I was there to find Saren and stop the Reapers.”

“But you were still representing humanity. We needed your help and the Alliance trusted you. You’re a human and a soldier of the Alliance first.” Hannah interrupted.

“No,” Shepard shook his head. “You’re wrong. The day they made me a Spectre, I transcended humanity and the Alliance. Because I wasn’t just responsible for looking out for humans but for all the species in the galaxy. And if that meant I had to sacrifice a human interest for the betterment of the galaxy, I would have done it. That was something the Alliance never understood. I wasn’t a Spectre under Alliance command. I superseded Alliance command.”

“No one is above the law, John.”

“But I was. And I didn’t have to answer to anyone but the Council. I respected that. And I tried to do everything I could to make Earth proud. To show all the other species that humans could integrate and exist as equals within their established community.” Teeth clenched, he sat back and shook his head, eyes distant. “That all bit me in the ass.” Pausing a moment, he leaned forward and slammed a fist on the table. “I sacrificed the Council because I needed the fleet to bring down the Reaper! What did they expect me to do?” Growling, he shook his head. “They said to me that one day I would have to make the choice, make sacrifices in order to ensure the greater good. The greater good was to destroy Sovereign.”

“You made the right choice, John.”

“Did I? Are you saying that because you think I did? Or because I spared more human lives with my decision.” He countered. At his mother’s silence, he flicked his wrist, hand dismissive towards the air. “My decision wasn’t made because the fleet was human. If the council was all human and the fleet was turian, I would still have sacrificed the council. A human colony … whatever I had to do. Anything.”

Watching her son with a settling understanding, Hannah poured herself more wine from the bottle on the table, leaving a little in the bottle to keep the sediment out of her glass. “That is why you were a perfect Spectre. But that did not mean you should disrespect the Alliance authorities.”

“You’re talking about that ass who wanted to inspect the Normandy? After running his mouth about it being a waste of money then insulting my crew to their faces? Like hell I was going to let him on board my ship.”

“That was not your decision to make, John. The Normandy would have passed the inspection. Instead, you just ostracized yourself from the Alliance. You made enemies that day.”

Scoffing, Shepard chugged the rest of his drink. “I’ve been making enemies since the Blitz. I still am.”

“It’s not too late for you. Come with me. We can get you back with the Alliance. Get you back where you belong.”

“Where’s that? An Alliance ship? Pulling some crap shore duty somewhere? For what? I have a mission and a crew. I have to stop the Collectors and the Reapers. Nobody else seems to give a shit, so I guess that’s on me now. Look, Mom. I appreciate the offer but I don’t want to go back.”

“What?” With slight shock, she leaned forward. “What are you talking about? It’s where … why would you think that? Is Cerberus better? So you want to be a terrorist? Is that it? You lost your Spectre status so now you decided you want to be a terrorist.”

“I’m not a terrorist.”

“Maybe not. But Cerberus? Really, John? Jeez, I would rather you have joined the Blue Suns.”

“Or you should have just come with me after Horizon.”

Shepard turned his head at the voice, eyes settling on the familiar form of Ashley Williams. “Ash,” expression shocked, he stood. “Hey.”

“Hey, Skipper,” She greeted with a nervous smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Was just on my way out and I saw you both up here.” She faced Hannah. “I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

“Not at all,” Hannah slid along the bench to make room for Williams. “Join us. I was just convincing my son to come back to the Alliance. Where he should be.”

Shepard shook his head, sitting down again and leaning back on the bench.

“I could use your help, Skipper,” Ashley injected. “Got a real important mission. The extra fire power won’t hurt and it’ll be your in back into the ranks. Show the brass you’re not a terrorist. That Cerberus forced you.”

“They didn’t force me.” Shepard sighed, exasperated. “You act like I’m some rogue criminal. Think about it. If I was, Udina would have Miranda and me in a prison. We wouldn’t have been able to dock our ship. I wouldn’t be free to walk around this city. I’ve done a lot of thinking about what exactly I’m doing with Cerberus and I came up with a startling realization.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together on the table. “As a Spectre, I was the secret police of the Council. Now? I’m just the secret police of the Alliance.”

“No offense, Shepard. But that’s a load of rubbish.” Ashley responded with narrowed eyes.

“Is it really?” Shepard countered. “To bring me back from the dead, they spent four billion credits. And that was just on my project. Not including however many other projects. Where would they possibly get that funding? Hmm?”

“That’s just ridiculous,” Hannah said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “How many times have any of us been sent to shut down and run out Cerberus operations? If they were part of the Alliance, we would be protecting them, not hunting them.”

“I don’t know.” Shepard whispered, distantly as he remembered his previous clashes with Cerberus. “It’s almost like when problems surface or too much info gets out, we’re sent in to clean up the mess. But have you noticed that we never seem to stop them? And the cells are small. It’s like they’re well prepared and evacuated when we got there.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Anyway, I have my crew and my squad. Seems like everyone here has dismissed the Reapers, forgot everything I did and all the warning signs. So I’m after the Collectors on my own. If that means Cerberus is funding me, then I’m alright with that.”

With disbelief, Ashley shook her head, brow furrowed in confused concern. “Are you listening to yourself? I took grunt and crap jobs for years and only after serving with you has the Alliance given me a chance. But I didn’t give up despite the troubles. And now you’re just giving up? You give up on everything you were? How you were raised? Alliance is in our blood, Skipper. I just don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand? This is just how it is. I’ve made my decision.” Shepard stated firmly, ending any further discussion. “I know what I want and I’m doing what needs to be done.”

Hannah Shepard crossed her arms over her chest. “Rumor has it Anderson offered you the Spectre title. That you could reclaim it. You turned him down.”

“Of course, I did. If I’m a Spectre then I have the Council breathing down my neck again. And we all know what happened the last time.” Shaking his head, Shepard stood. “No, not again. At least not now. Not with this mission. Look, I have to get back to my ship.”

Remaining in her seat, Ashley’s head tilted back slightly to watch Shepard’s eyes. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to me? People change. That’s what happened.”

“Not like this,” Hannah said.

“She’s right,” Ashley agreed. “What the hell did they do to you? They messed with your brain. Changed the wires. You’re so different.”

“Different? I’m different.” He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Gee, can’t imagine why. Chased a lunatic across the galaxy only to engage in the largest battles of my life. And then I died! Then some … psychopath with a vision funds a project to bring me back to life from a pile of flesh. And then do I get a break? More shore leave? Oh wait, the last time I had shore leave, I was the hero of the Blitz.” Leaning forward, he pressed his hands onto the edge of the table. “I watched giant bugs stuffing human colonists into pods. I saw bodies discarded like trash on their ship. I saw what the Reapers did to the Protheans and like hell I’m going to let them do that to us.” He looked between Ashley and his mother. “If that means I have to tell the Alliance to go screw itself, then so be it. I’m jumping through that Omega 4 relay and I’m going to stop the Collectors. Or die on their ship. Whichever works.” He searched their expressions for a long moment before sighing and averting his eyes. “I gotta go.” He turned to leave.

Hannah held her son’s gaze, easily interpreting the stress, the pain, the confusion and the determined sense of duty. Strong willed and fearless, she understood. “John.” She called softly and swallowed her relief when he paused. She pushed Williams from the bench and slipped out to approach her son. “Don’t walk away. Not angry.” Stepping in front of him, she peered up into his eyes, her own determined and strong to match his.

“I’m alright,” he quickly said to alleviate her worry. “Really, just a lot on my plate. I’m sorry.”

Offering a rare reassuring smile, Hannah touched his upper arm. “Just make sure you send me a message when you get back.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ll try.”

“No trying. I expect it, soldier. You hear me?”

Calming, he nodded in understanding. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good, now give your mother a hug,” without waiting for an approval, Hannah hugged Shepard tightly, firm and strong in her display. “You come back, you hear? Your father and I couldn’t handle losing you again.”

“I will.” He pledged though both knew the low odds of his thin promise.


	15. Chapter 15

Stepping on board the Normandy, Shepard strode towards the deck. “Edi, is everyone back on board?”

“Everyone is on board, Commander, and at their stations.” Joker answered.

“Excellent,” Shepard stated then slapped Joker on the back. “Rosetta Nebula. Alpha Draconis system. Get us in orbit of Aeia.”

Grinning, Joker tapped his fingers along the console. “Aye, aye, Commander.”

Leaving the bridge as the Normandy departed the Citadel, Shepard crossed the bay and passed the galaxy map on his way to the techlab. He activated his communications unit. “Jacob. Be ready. We’re going after the Hugo Gernsback.”

“I’ll be ready, Commander.” Jacob responded.

“Great, I’ll get Mordin to come with us. Should take us a couple of hours to get there.”

Jacob looked down at the pistol in his hand, turning it over to examine the stock. “Right here.” He pointed to where the stock soldered to the barrel. “This isn’t the problem. It’s supposed to look like this. I know, weird, but that’s how these Kessler lines were designed. The problem is here, at the barrel, see? It’s jamming here. Me? I’d say we toss these and use different pistols. These are just unreliable. My experience.”

Sighing, Miranda motioned to the line of Kessler pistols on the table. “We just bloody acquired these. I didn’t purchase any pistols because I was told pistol upgrades would be shipped. They were delivered.” Pushing off the table in frustration, she raked a hand through her hair. “We should have opened the blasted crates right after delivery.”

“Well, there’s a simple solution. Repackage them. Convince the commander to make a stop on Omega and trade them. Even if we get less, we can get better equipment. Everyone doesn’t need a new pistol. The Commander rarely uses his. Grunt doesn’t carry one, neither does Samara. I only have one because its standard procedure to have a side arm.”

Her thumb hooked under her chin, the side of her index finger pressed to her lips, she thought a moment, pacing to the lockers then back again. “Pack them up. I have an idea.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jacob agreed and gathered the offending pistols to repack into the crates.

Miranda left the armory and entered the elevator. “Edi, where is Commander Shepard?”

“Commander Shepard is in his quarters.”

Miranda triggered the elevator for the Captain’s deck. Leaning back against the mid height rail, she crossed her arms and waited impatiently during the slow climb.

Shepard sat in the swiveling chair at his desk, staring at the computer terminal. His finger rhythmically tapped a single button, cycling through the endless messages and updated codices. He read up on the planet, Aeia, and then all the available information about Jacob’s father and the flight of the Hugo Gernsback. Memories flooded his mind of a time long gone, yet still fresh. The hunt for Saren, the Prothean beacons, his squad and his various decisions. Taking orders from the Alliance brass. Of course when he accepted each mission, he brushed it off as ‘If I have time,’ or ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ But in reality, he dedicated every ounce of his determination to completing each mission, saving lives, doing the right thing. It compounded to the stress of being a Spectre.

Leaning back in the chair, he ducked his head into one hand, his elbow pressed into the chair arms to keep his head propped up. His gaze distant, he stared unblinking at the bright orange display of the terminal.

“Commander.”

Mostly unresponsive, Shepard finally blinked. Turning his head towards her, he fisted his hand and pressed his mouth into the backs of his fingers. Dark circles marred the flesh under his eyes, wrinkles crinkled at the corner of his eyes and along his brow. Despite his usual strength and the appearance of endless stamina, Shepard slumped in his chair, tired, stressed and worn.

Miranda slowly tilted her head in observation. “Still haven’t been sleeping? We were grounded for days.”

“Is there something you want?” he snapped, curtly.

Arching a brow at his tone, she crossed her arms and lifted her chin, defensive. “Why am I still stuck on this ship?”

“Christ, this again,” he muttered under his breath and splayed his fingers over his brow in a vain attempt to push out the strain.

“Yes, this again. Why am I even here if you’re not going to utilize me?”

“Look, I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t need this now, alright?”

“Really?” she countered. “There’s a lot I don’t need too, Shepard. But I’m here anyway. I’m an operative for a reason and instead I’m relegated to bridge duty because I got caught off guard once. How many times have you nearly been killed? So how about you stop jerking me around and give me a real reason why I haven’t gone ashore.”

Sighing, his hands dropped. “I’ve kind of got a lot of shit on my fucking plate right now. And I don’t give a shit if everyone’s feeling are hurt over who can’t go to shore and who doesn’t like what on the menu or my bed is too god damn hard! Ash, just drop it.” The moment the words left his mouth, he moaned and closed his eyes, head tilting back. “Miranda. I mean … Miranda, look …”

Uncrossing her arms, she approached him and leaned over, pressing her palms onto the desktop to peer down at him. “I get it, Shepard. You’re stressed. Overwhelmed. We all are. But you better get your bloody self together. Because if you don’t? Somebody’s going to get killed before we even reach the Collectors. And it won’t be you. Life isn’t that kind.”

Forcing his eyes opened, his head turned slightly to meet her gaze for a second; he watched her leave.

At her desk, Miranda drew her fingers along the console, opening various cameras and arranging them appropriately on the front of her desk. Picking up her earpiece, she carefully tweaked the frequency and inserted the piece, adjusting it for comfort.

She set the screens carefully along her desk, adjusting the contrast to best see and tried the controls for zoom. As Shepard placed his visor on his head, she saw everything in front of him, beside him and to his left from the cameras she planted during the repair.

She remained quiet throughout the mission, observing and watching, tracking to ensure his safety. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his eyes focused, none flanked him nor had the upper hand. As Jacob killed his father, she turned off the camera feed.

+++

Shepard lingered in the communications room after the hologram with the Illusive Man disconnected. Turning his head, he watched Miranda leave. “What do you mean, selective?”

Jacob followed the Commander’s gaze. “Just like it sounds, sir. She’ll remember things you tell her from years ago. I … I didn’t think she’d remember this.”

“For the Illusive Man to mention the protocols … she must have dug deep for you.” Shepard noted. “You had a history?”

“You could say that, Commander,” Jacob responded. “She was my handler for a couple of missions.”

“And …”

“It’s in the past,” Jacob said, simply. “Like I said. She needs a better man than me. And don’t let that cool exterior fool you. That’s not all there is. There’s more. You just have to dig a little.” He saluted the Commander and took his leave.

Shepard stepped back as the table elevated at the center of the room and the hologram of the Normandy appeared. Turning his back on the slowly spinning visual, he left the Communications chamber, passed through the tech lab and waited at the elevator to the lower decks.

“There are new messages at your terminal, Commander.” Kelly announced as he waited.

“I’ll read them later.” He stated flatly and stepped into the elevator. Emerging on the third floor, he crossed the mess hall and waved his hand over the sensor for Miranda’s room. The sensor beeped obnoxiously, glowing red; the door locked. Frowning, he tried the sensor again with little luck. Muffled voices inside hinted her company. The voices quieted within seconds and the red light of the door sensor turned green. Pausing a moment, he waved his hand over the sensor and walked inside.

Miranda stood alone at her bedside, closing the drawer of the small bed stand and flicking closed the locking latch. Confused, Shepard looked around the room. “You alone?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. “Can I help you, Commander?”

“I thought I heard voices. Your door was locked.”

“Holocall.”

“Oh …” he stood awkwardly at the door. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, I unlocked the door afterward.” She left her private chambers for her office desk. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Quietly, he watched her a few seconds and when she arched a brow expecting, he sighed. “Sorry. Do you have a minute?”

“I do.”

“Good. I … wanted to talk to you. About before.” He sat in the chair in front of her desk, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He hung his head a few seconds in thought then looked up, eyes distant as he stared blankly at the hull. “You know, I thought it was stressful going after Saren. But … it never really stops. The stress just compounds until you’re ready to pop.”

“Usually, yes,” she responded and crossed her arms. “Saren is dead. Why are you stressed over that?”

“It’s complicated,” he brushed off and pushed to his feet, approaching her. When she tensed slightly, he stopped, watching her. “I know you’re not Ashley. I was just … I saw her on the Citadel and … I just need a god damn vacation.”

Smirking slightly, she uncrossed her arms. “I don’t believe I’ve ever really had one. So get in line.”

He chuckled and reached out to brush his fingers along her arm. Sobering, his fingers lingered at her wrist. “The nightmares came back. Can’t sleep. I need your help.”

“I will do what I can, Commander. If you wish, I can take command of the bridge while you try to rest. Just let me know where you want to go. Or perhaps we can take a day or two and mine for some minerals.”

Shaking his head, he stepped back, eyes on her face. “I don’t mean professionally. I mean, I need you to do that thing you do. With your biotics.”

“Ah, well alright then.” She walked around him, pausing at her bed stand and pulled out the familiar, small, half-rolled tube. “What hurts? Your shoulder?”

He followed her. “No. Well a little, but that’s not what I mean. I want you to do it to my head.”

She froze. “What?”

“My head has been killing me. And there’s just too much shit going on. Stress. Memories. The nightmares.”

“Shepard,” she turned to face him. “What I do is purely physical. I don’t manipulate memories. Anything I could do to your brain … if I slipped even a millimeter, I’d fry your mind.”

“But you can calm it right? You’ve calmed my muscles. Why couldn’t you do it for my thoughts?”

“They’re not even remotely related.” She paced from him, then back again, tube in hand. “You’re a smart man, you must know that. Mental stress and physical pain are completely different. It would be like treating bipolar disorder with a pain reliever. Or a broken leg with an anti-psychotic.”

“But you did it before. You said you did it, to stimulate my nervous growth, get my brain functioning again.”

“That was different,” she responded, frustrated. “You were a sack of meat on the table. I wanted to succeed but it wasn’t the same as … It worked, Shepard. You’re whole and functioning. Doing it on you now, when nothing is wrong with you would be dangerous.”

“I don’t understand. You said you were as powerful as some Asari.”

“Well, yes biotically. But I don’t mind meld or whatever they call it. ‘Embracing Eternity.’ If you need that, we should go back to Illium. Find Liara. Maybe she can help you if … do you feel frazzled? Your report on the last mission gave no inclination you were unsettled.”

“I’m not unsettled,” he quickly defended and took a step back. “Look, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

When he turned to leave, she stepped forward, forceful in tone. “I will not forget. If something is wrong, we have to treat you. You’re too vital to this mission to be less than one hundred percent.”

“I said, never mind,” he snapped. “Forget it.” Without a second glance, he left the chambers, leaving a confused and concerned Miranda.

+++

“ _Ash … Go,” Shepard commanded and watched as she hesitated a long few seconds before finally obeying, disappearing down the smoke and flame filled hallway of the Normandy. The ship rocked and he gripped tightly at the hull to keep his balance, knees bending to absorb the shock. A nearby explosion startled him, close and he winced, turning his head away. Two bodies flew passed and smashed into the side of the ship before crumbling to the floor in scorched heaps._

_Shielding his eyes and dodging blasting bulkheads and popping wiring, he slowly navigated the dangerous halls of the Normandy, weaving through the debris on his way to the bridge. The door to the top deck whooshed open and Shepard stepped out onto the tattered metallic grating. The top of the ship blown off, chairs, wires, and metal sheets floated passed his head. Tilting his head back, he looked up and his eyes widened at the magnificent awesome sight of the nearby planet, cold and blue in icy silence. The quiet overwhelmed him, despite the explosions and fire. The eternal vacuum of space consumed all but the visual evidence of the Normandy’s destruction._

_Careful in his step, he crossed the way towards the cockpit, dodging floating and flying debris, eyes on the sky for fire, weapons, or rock._

_A thick haze filled his mind before he again focused; Shepard helped Joker into the escape pod off the cockpit. Another explosion tore through the bridge, shorting the consoles in a blaze of fire, smoke, and shrapnel. Shepard lost his grip, flying backwards and away from the escape pod. Faintly, he heard Joker call his name. The Normandy tore in half, a thick powerful and brilliantly bright beam severed the center console, drawing a line and splitting the Normandy. In a last act of heroism, Shepard slammed the emergency ejection button, sealing Joker in the escape pod and firing it into space._

_A massive explosion ripped through the rest of the Normandy, tearing her to pieces and ejecting Shepard into space like a piece of metallic junk. He tumbled and spun with the propulsion; he twisted to watch the remains of the Normandy disperse. Eyes scanned the expanse, spotting a few of the escape pods but he saw no details. Unable to stop his momentum, the gravity of the planet pulled on him as a satellite and tugged him towards its surface. A tube on the back of his suit near his head burst, air expelling into the vacuum of space. Another tube burst at the pressure release._

_Air sucked from his suit and he lurched, reaching up to quickly fumble with desperate gloved fingers in a vain attempt to close his suit leaks. Another part of the suit ruptured as the planet pulled him down. Pressure immediately intensified as piercing pain overwhelmed his physical sensations. He tried to scream as the blood vessels in his body slowly swelled. The air entirely gone, he tried to gasp but with no atmosphere, his attempts futile. His lungs tensed then within a few agonizing seconds, his vessels burst, his lungs collapsed and the vacuum of space invaded his suit, crushing him as he fell towards the icy planet._

Eyes flying open, Shepard gasped awake, his chest tight and he struggled to breathe in the first few seconds of awareness. He sat on the couch in his quarters in only his casual pants, slouched down, and half lounging. Two tablets rested on the table, one still flickering with scrolling data. Sweat glistened and beaded on his skin, one stubborn drop dripped into his eye, and he quickly reached up. Squeezing his eyes closed, he rubbed at the salty liquid then blinked a few times to clear his vision.

Searching the dim quarters, his breathing slowed, controlled again. Moaning, he sat up and pressed both palms into his face, trying to rub away the vivid memory. He gasped again, short of breath as his body recovered from the memorized trauma of his death. Arms fell limply to his side as he stared at the dark bulkhead above.

Pushing to his feet, he staggered slightly before regaining his balance. Yanking his shirt off his bed, he stumbled up the stairs towards the elevator, pulling the shirt over his head and tugging it down. He rode the elevator barefoot to the third floor. Ignoring the curious glances from the crew, he entered the training room. Alone, he clenched his teeth and punched his fist towards the console by the door, shorting the circuit and locking the door.

+++

“System … alert.”

Humming softly, Miranda’s eyes fluttered open. Lying on her side on her bed, she stretched, extending her legs, pointing her toes as her shoulders pinched back. Turning her head slightly, she glanced towards her office.

“System … alert.” EDI announced again.

Sitting up, she raked a hand through her hair, fluffing it back. “EDI, status report.”

“System alert,” EDI repeated. “System malfunction. Third deck, ward D. Training deck.”

She swung her feet off the bed and stood to dress. “I need more details. What happened?”

“System … failure. Security protocols failed. Circuit 4 … 8 … 7 … B is malfunctioning.”

“EDI!” Miranda snapped. “Turn off the bloody warning and tell me what happened.”

“Apologies, Operative Lawson,” EDI responded. “The VI maintenance system responds by default. It appears Commander Shepard is in the Training ward. The circuits shorted out on the door. I cannot open the doors to the Ward.”

“How long?”

“I notified maintenance personnel,” EDI explained. “The system has been shorted for six minutes, fourteen seconds.”

Frowning, Miranda pushed her feet into the heeled boots, fastening them to her thigh. “I did not hear you. Was the alarm sounding for the last six minutes?”

“No. I only notified necessary personnel. When a second circuit board and my terminal malfunctioned, I released a system wide alert.”

Adjusting the second boot, she buttoned the rest of her suit and walked to her terminal, tapping dexterous fingers. “Show me the security system.”

“Security system malfunctioning. There is a short in the wires.”

“Damn it,” Miranda muttered then paused a second in thought. “EDI, show me the security cameras up until the time of the short.”

“One moment, please. Systems processing.”

Miranda watched, eyes scanning quickly at the display. Shepard walked into the training ward and paused as the door closed behind him. With swiftness, he turned and slammed his fist into the console, breaking the door sensor. Ignoring the warnings and the sputtering sparks, he crossed the room towards the cardio deck. Pausing before entering the system, he left the cardio deck and eyed the various weights and pulleys, expensive top of the line exercise and training equipment.

Slowly picking up one of the hand weights, he tested it then glanced over his shoulder at the exposed security camera. With a sneering growl, he hurled the weight at the camera. Miranda jumped; the feed died. Quickly swiping her fingers over the console, she turned off the display and left her office.

Down the hall to the port side of the ship, Miranda approached the two working technicians. One dug through a box of wires, screws and tools, handing over a set of cables. The second took the cables, and held them between his teeth as he reached into the small console. The console sparked and jolted him. He pulled his hand back with a gasp and brought his index finger to his mouth while he muttered a few choice curses.

“What’s going on? Why isn’t the door fixed?” Miranda stopped in front of the door, arms crossed impatiently.

“Operative,” the man at the box greeted. “Circuit board is totally fried. We’re working on it. But it’ll take us a couple of hours at least to get it fully repaired.”

“Not good enough,” she stated flatly.

Nervously, he looked up at her. “I’m afraid it will have to be. We had a chance at it but then it sounded like a warzone in there for a few seconds and the whole board fried. No idea what happened.”

“If you can’t handle this, tech, we will find someone who can. Open this door, now.”

The man at the console stood straight and brushed his hands on his pants. “With all due respect, ma’am, but you expect the impossible. There is no way to open this door without the circuit board.”

Arching a single brow, she walked to them and peered down into the box. Eyes scanning quickly, she reached down with a single hand and plucked out two screwdrivers. Nervously, the man by the box stood. “Ma’am … Operative Lawson. What are you …” he trailed off as she approached the door.

Miranda patiently searched along the edges of the door, twirling one of the screwdrivers along her fingers in absent thought. Finally, gripping the handle of the screwdriver, she aimed carefully along the edges of the door’s sensor then jammed the flathead between two nodes. She turned her face away as it sparked, shorting the sensor.

“Operative!” One tech exclaimed with wide eyes. “What are you doing? Those tools cost almost ten thousand credits a piece. The sensor is …” At Miranda’s warning glare, he quieted. Leaving the door, she approached the console, eyes skimming the inside. Reaching in, she yanked out the sensitive circuit board and jammed the other screwdriver into the small conduit behind the circuit board.

The second tech raked his fingers through his hair in absolute alarm before whispering. “Six … more hours of repair! At least.”

Fiddling with the second screwdriver, she watched the spacing at the center of the door carefully with narrowed eyes. When the door twitched, she held the screwdriver in place, testing and setting it until it triggered the electrical current to inch the door open. With a small half inch opening, she left the screwdriver in the conduit and picked up the hammer from the toolbox. “When I say open the door … I mean open … the door.” She stated intensely and with a sneer, swung the claw end of the hammer towards the opening at the center of the doors. Pushing on the hammer, she pried and forced the door passed the safety point. Creaking and sparking, the door opened. The screwdriver jammed into the sensor fell to the ground, the metal stained black with char. Eyeing the two techs expectantly, she handed the hammer back to him.

“But … but ma’am. You … you just added … how will we ever fix the door now?”

“You should have thought of that, Diaz, before you told me you couldn’t open it.” Miranda snapped and stepped into the training bay.

She paused at the sight. Mirrors along the back wall shattered and splintered, the glass in crumbles and shards along the rubber floor. Dumb bells lay amidst the pieces. The large rack holding various weights of bar bells toppled, partially leaning against the side wall. Shepard sat at the far corner of the room on the floor, his back against the wall. Knees bent, his bare feet planted on the glass covered ground. Cuts and nicks on his feet bled from the glass; he ignored it. His head ducked, arms draped over his knees, hands hanging limply in defeat.

“Shepard,” she called softly, watching cautiously. When he offered no response, she tentatively stepped into the room, guarded. She repeated his name; his fingers twitched.

Shepard turned his head slightly, glancing up at her with unmoved blank eyes. Resuming his position, he remained silent. He breathed slowly as she neared, her heels clicking on the metallic grating then crunching as she stepped along the shattered glass bits.

“Shepard, what are you doing?” she asked, coolly.

“Sitting,” he stated, unflinching.

Miranda’s eyes narrowed and she twisted at the waist to address the two techs still standing at the door. “Diaz, go get Doctor Chakwas. Or Mordin. Cooper, go do something else for ten minutes.” At their momentary hesitation, she snapped. “Now!” They quickly obeyed.

He motioned towards her with a wave of the hand. “Did it occur to you that I didn’t want to be interrupted?”

“And did it occur to you that as the XO of this vessel I will respond to system malfunctions and emergencies? If you didn’t want to be interrupted, just lock the bloody door and don’t destroy the place.”

“Yeah … well it felt good.”

“It’s bad enough you’re injured on nearly every shore mission, now you’re practically self mutilating! Look at your feet!”

Scoffing with a soft chuckle, he shook his head. “Oh don’t worry,” he responded, tone mocking and snarky. “I’ll be just fine for the next mission. Cerberus will have its glory as I’m sure you expect. Your pet will perform as needed.”

Brow furrowed, she crouched to his level, balancing forward on her toes. “Shepard,” She whispered, her voice unusually soft and gentle. He kept his gaze averted for nearly a moment before he finally tilted his head to peer at her. Her expression compassionate, the icy façade gone. Her eyes held his in understanding. “Is that really how you think of me?” Her question piercing in its gentleness, laced with lulling emotion.

His vision cleared as he searched her eyes and expression and he swallowed hard to quell the emotion rising in his throat – the hurt, the anger, betrayal, and confusion.

She smiled sadly, lips twitching for only a second as she reached out with her hand, cupping his sweat slicked cheek with a cool palm. Brushing her thumb over his bottom lip, she searched his eyes. “How can you not see?” As quickly as she reached out, her hand dropped and she looked away to the door at the sound of footsteps down the hall, nearing rhythmically. The façade fell back into place.

“Miranda …” He husked and his eyes followed her as she stood. He reached for her, unseen and his fingers grazed her calf as she stepped to the door and the approaching Doctor Chakwas.

She glanced back at him at the brushing touch, met his eyes then turned to the doctor. “I apologize for waking you at this hour, Doctor.”

“No apologies necessary, Operative. It is why I’m here,” Chakwas looked around the room. “So … another training room. Commander, we have to stop meeting under these circumstances.”

Shepard smiled at the doctor, sheepishly. “It’s good release.”

“That’s what you said last time.” Chakwas stated then crouched at Shepard’s side. Pulling a small thin light from her bag, she twisted the head to turn it on. “Before, when we were with the Alliance, the Commander completely destroyed the training facility on the first Normandy,” she explained and looked up at Miranda. “I would have suggested simply working out to relieve stress but the Commander seems to have other ideas on the best approach.” She touched Shepard’s cheek, pulling down slightly as she shone the light in his eyes. “Look up.” The light shone in first one than the other eye. “Ok, follow the light … Good. Once more … ok.”

“It always seems like a good idea at the time,” Shepard continued with a halfhearted smile. “After Udina grounded me on the Citadel I just didn’t … I was so angry. It started as a work out, Doc, and I was with Garrus. Then things just got out of hand.”

“Out of hand,” she repeated with a laugh. “You did manage to leave some parts standing. Not as thorough as you were last time.”

Miranda watched the exchange, cool and controlled. “I’ll get you some boots.” Without a second glance, she left the training room. A few minutes later, she returned with a pair of his casual boots and placed them at his side. Doctor Chakwas elevated both his legs, his feet propped high as she used a scanner to find and disintegrate any foreign particles of glass in his feet and applied medigel. One foot was already done. Miranda avoided Shepard’s eyes, watching the Doctor. “Submit your report, Doctor, on his injuries when you’re finished.”

“Of course, Operative,” Chakwas responded professionally. Miranda left.

+++

Shepard limped down the dimly lit hallway, his boots unfastened. Withholding a wince at the discomfort, he passed the elevator and turned the corner towards Miranda’s chamber. Four crewman sat at the table in the mess, laughing. They fell quiet at his approach and eyed him curiously. As he neared Miranda’s quarters, one whispered to the others; Shepard couldn’t hear it. He didn’t care.

Waving his hand over the sensor for her door, he entered Miranda’s office. The lights dimmed low, haunting. His eyes sought her form standing near the bed by the bed stand, a beautiful profile view. A long slender glass gripped by delicate fingers and filled with a pink liquid drew his attention. She ignored his presence and tilted the glass to sip the potent liquor.

She swallowed, and he licked his lips. “Miranda,” he managed to croak her name. Clearing his throat, he stepped further inside.

Sighing, she plucked the cap off the bed and twisted it back onto the small bottle of liquor. Opening the drawer of the bed stand, she laid the bottle back inside and drew the small bar lock into place to keep the drawer from opening during flight. “What is it, Shepard?”

The resigned and defeated tone twisted into his gut. Closing the distance between them, he stopped beside her and tentatively reached out, thick finger tips brushing the small of her back. She shivered; he rejoiced. When she tensed, his hand paused then fell back to his side. “I’m an ass. I know.” He joked lightly and smiled nervously.

“Sometimes … you can be.” She offered him the slender glass, half filled. “But I’m a bitch. So we’re even.”

He chuckled softly and took the offered glass, finishing the rest of the liquor, his eyes unwavering from her face. The strong alcohol burned down his throat before settling in his empty stomach. Warm. Calming. He handed her the glass. “Quite the pair …”

She hummed her agreement and took the glass, setting it into the grip of the coaster on her bed stand. “Is there something you need?”

“Yeah … you.” His voice deepened with the words and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Silence lingered after the words as she searched his gaze. Finally, arching a brow, she challenged him. “Me? Really.”

“You,” he repeated and stepped closer to her.

She turned to face him and took a step back, eyeing him and chin lifted in confidant defiance. “Not Ashley?”

“Not Ashley,” he affirmed and moved closer.

“Could have fooled me,” she stated flatly, any emotion hidden behind the well fortified walls.

“I just saw her. She tried getting me back to the Alliance. To follow her on some planetary mission. Was just thinking about the past. That’s it. I made my choice and I don’t regret it. I’m here. I’m Cerberus.” He explained, simply then sighed. “It’s stress. But I’ll be fine.”

“Stress is understandable,” she offered, professionally. “You never really had the chance to break yourself from your first mission with Saren and cope with everything that happened before you were thrown into another.”

“And I still have Alliance brass hounding me,” he continued, eyes on hers. “Hackett contacted me. Wants me to see to some sensitive issue with a friend of his captured by batarians. Some undercover scientist now in a terrorist camp. I should get her out soon. God only knows what they’re doing to her.”

“They still think they can give you orders?”

“Seems everyone thinks they can give me orders,” Shepard growled. “Alliance … Illusive man … Aria … I’m just everyone’s little bitch.”

“No, you’re not,” she defended intensely. “You do what they say because you are actively making the decision. You could tell them all to go to bloody hell if you wanted to. But you don’t. Because that’s not you. You help people, defend the innocent and you think fast on your feet. You recognize when others are right or have good ideas and you adopt them for your own. Just because you do what others suggest or take on private contracts does not make you their bitch. It means you’ve made the decision yourself. No one can force your hand.”

Her words settled over him, soothing some of his doubts and he offered a crooked smile. “You’re God damn amazing, you know that?”

“I know,” she shrugged casually with one shoulder. “It’s the perfection.”

He chuckled at the flirtatious tone and kissed her softly once then slowly again. Stepping closer, he draped his arms around her waist and pressed his forehead to hers in a delicate and intimate gesture. “Help me, Miranda. I don’t know what’s going on. I just … I can’t sleep. The nightmares are back. I don’t feel right.”

She eased him back, watching him with concern. “What do you mean?” The delicate touch of her palm on the side of his head belied her professional tone. “What’s wrong?”

Sighing, he paced a few steps away then towards her again. “I don’t know. I remember you saying that if I wasn’t exactly as I was then the Lazerus Project failed. Well I hate to break it to you, but I think you failed.” He sat heavily on her bed and shook his head. “I used to be so … good. I helped everyone. Innocents. Soldiers. Hell even enemies at times. I trusted people, wasn’t jaded. I pursued Saren relentlessly but I never let that change my morals. I did the right thing. I always did the right thing.”

Drawing his hand over his mouth, he tugged on his lips a second before resting his arms on his thighs, leaning forward to look at her. “Now? Everything is so grey. I do the right thing not because I actually give a shit, but because it’s what I’m expected to do. I’m not supposed to agree with slavery so I coaxed that Asari to free her quarian slave. But I did it just because it was what I should have done. Not because I cared. I just … I don’t care anymore, Miranda.” He ducked his head. “I don’t care if they cure the Genophage. I don’t care if I’m ever an Alliance soldier again. I don’t care about the collateral damage or the families of the people I’ve slaughtered in the name of my own goal. I just … don’t … care. And that’s not like me. What the hell am I even doing here? I was dead and … what’s the point?” He paused a moment before whispering. “What’s the god damn point? There was nothing you know.” He looked up at her. “After I died. Just pain … then blackness. Just blackness. Then I awoke on a god damn table, looking at you. So if there’s nothing … who even gives a shit? What the hell am I fighting for?”

“How dramatically apathetic and existential of you,” Miranda commented flatly though her tone hinted at amusement.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” Miranda shook her head. “First of all, you’re under a lot of stress right now. Because if you were truly apathetic and didn’t care? It wouldn’t bother you that you don’t care. What bothers you is that you have been on this never ending epic quest to save the galaxy and you’re tired. You’re tired of being the great hero. You’re tired of being an icon. You’re tired of feeling you have to make every little decision in order to accomplish some greater goal. You certainly care because if you didn’t, you would have left Garrus for dead after the gunship shot him. You would never have done what you did for me after the Red Sand. You wouldn’t have let that Eclipse sister go while we were trying to help Samara. Should I keep going?”

Crouching before him, she gently touched his arm. “You may be a bit more jaded now than before. But after everything you’ve been through, I think it’s understandable. So you don’t take anyone’s crap. You have less patience. You obviously still have anger issues.” She pressed and when he chuckled, she smiled. “See? It’s all normal, Shepard. It’s a bloody miracle you’re here at all and still managing to function after everything you’ve been through. You are so strong willed … look at what you’ve accomplished.”

A few seconds of comfortable silence passed as he stared at her hand on his arm. Glancing up at her, he smirked teasingly. “Jealous, again?”

“Never,” she responded with a grin. Sobering, she continued. “You want to know what the point is? For the future. Survival. Not just for us, but for our species. Whether there is or isn’t an afterlife, I don’t know. I wouldn’t expect you to remember anything if there was. But even if there is nothing. If we die and there is nothing. Don’t you think it’s worth fighting for yourself? Do you really want to be captured and turned into a husk? Do you want to be like Saren? A slave to the Reapers? Or do you want to live free? A man of your own mind.” She paused, waiting for a reaction before continuing. “Whatever you need for motive … use it.”

He nodded quietly in thoughtful reflection. When Miranda stood, he looked up at her. “Can you do that thing you do? With your biotics? It helps me relax.”

Offering a soft smile, she opened the drawer at her bedside. “Of course,” she pulled out the small half-rolled tube then closed the drawer. “Does one place hurt or need extra attention?”

He moved back on the bed. “I wouldn’t mind some special attention … but I have a feeling that wasn’t what you meant.” He husked and reached for his shirt, pulling it up over his head. He tossed it towards the couch.

Rolling her eyes, she squeezed some of the cool gel into her palms. Leaning down, she flirtatiously whispered. “We’ll be at our destination in two hours … maybe if we had more time.”

Growling, he shook his head and turned to lie on his stomach. “Tease … if I lay on my back, will you straddle my hips?” He grinned at the thought and closed his eyes

She laughed and crawled onto the bed, kneeling at his side as she rubbed her hands together. “I believe if I did that, we wouldn’t have any biotic massage.”

“Yes we would.” His grin broadened.

Pressing her hands into his back, she moved them slowly. “Try not to move. It will hurt at first.”

His teeth clenched and body tightened, muscles taut as the biotics penetrated his body. Subconsciously he resisted the first few seconds. Forcing himself to breathe, he finally sighed and succumbed to her. Soon the addicting and familiar warmth then cooling deep tissue massage began. He moaned and snuggled deeper into her pillow, unashamed as he inhaled deeply to gather her scent. Humming her name, he relaxed fully. Sleep came quickly.

She continued the massage for half an hour, easing every muscle and every nerve of his back and shoulders. Certain of his comfort, she finally stopped and pulled back. Her hands crackled with the remaining power. Sweat slicked her skin, dampening her hair along its edges and behind her neck. She licked her parched lips and watched his sleeping expression.

Twisting at the waist, she reached towards the bed stand and opened the drawer. She took out the small envelope and emptied its contents into her hand. Placing the envelope back in the drawer, she carefully pinched the chip, watching his sleeping expression. Squashing any doubt or resistance, she leaned over him and carefully placed the chip behind his right ear. Once in place, she hesitated as her eyes skimmed his strong stubble covered jaw, the lines of his mouth than the relaxed expression.

She licked her lips again and set her jaw. Carefully, she pushed his ear shell aside and reached down with index and thumb. She managed to pinch the chip, but its tendrils already extended as it burrowed into his skin. She bit back her curse, trying once more to remove the bug, but too late; the bug implanted.

Closing her eyes, she released a sigh and reached out to smooth her fingers over his scrunched brow. She kissed his ear then whispered. “I’m sorry.” Drawing gentle fingers along his jaw, she eased off the bed and quietly walked to her desk.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Shepard stood outside the Blue Suns facility, watching as Zaeed walked casually inside, ignoring the pleas of the innocent civilian behind them. Jack, equally unmoved, continued on as well. Shepard glanced back at the man, helpless and pleading for help – for rescue. Immediate guilt overwhelmed him and he took a step towards the civilian. Pausing in his stride, he recalled an important message sent to him by an old friend and advisor. ‘Take whatever steps you must to ensure that those battling at your side will fight with clear minds and glad hearts.’ The Consort wise and absolutely right, Shepard swallowed his guilt and continued into the compound after Zaeed, leaving the innocents to die.

Heavy firepower greeted their entrance, and the squad pressed cautiously but steadily forward. Distracted by his decision, Shepard glanced behind him during pauses in battle; his stomach knotted with regret. Jaw set, he turned his attention towards his squad, watching as they slid for cover to dodge in-coming fire. Equipping his sniper rifle, he lifted the gun, pressing the stock into his shoulder and peered down the sight. He scanned the area and led a mercenary before firing. Headshot.

Soon, Zaeed appeared in his sights and Shepard sneered, placing the crosshairs on the back of the squad mate’s head.

“Shepard, don’t.”

Frowning at the familiar voice, he lowered his gun and looked around, behind him then forward near the two other squad mates. His head high, a shot whizzed past his head.

“Bloody hell! Would you stay in cover!” Miranda exclaimed through his earpiece.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Shepard,” Jack snapped. “We’re in front of you. It wouldn’t hurt if you worked a little, you know.”

Shepard paused and brought the gun up again, peering down the sights.

“They can’t hear me, Shepard,” Miranda said simply. “I’m on a different frequency. Do not kill Zaeed. Get to the end, fulfill the contract. That’s your mission.”

“How would you know that?” he asked and fired, killing the last mercenary in the room.

Zaeed looked back at Shepard in confusion. “Know what? What the hell are you talkin’ about, Shepard?”

“Nothing,” Shepard snapped. “Check the area for ammo … upgrades. Regroup at the door ahead when clear.

When Zaeed and Jack separated and collected items, Miranda spoke again. “On your visor, there is a small switch. Push it forward two clicks and that is this frequency. Keep speaking to me under your current frequency and your squad, EDI, and Joker will hear you.”

He secured the sniper rifle to his back and reached up, flicking the switch on the side of his visor. “Like that?”

“Yes, now you’re on this frequency. It’s encrypted. Medium range.”

“How did you know I …”

“Were going to blow Zaeed’s head off? I saw you. And before you ask, I installed a private communication and camera system into your visor when you gave it to Jacob for repairs. If you won’t use me on the ground, then I’ll be your handler. Now keep your mind on the mission.”

“I suppose now would be a bad time to tell you that I ordered a new helmet and just haven’t fitted it yet.”

“A very bad time,” she stated flatly.

He grinned. “That’s what you get for keeping secrets. So where do we go from here?”

“You continue with your mission and I am your second set of eyes. I can also assist you with any system or navigation should you not wish to ask EDI.”

He picked up a few thermal clips and slipped them into his ammo pouch. “Going to whisper sexy things to me?”

“Why would I do that? You’re distracted enough as it is.”

Jack approached Shepard, slapping three clips into his hand. “You losing your mind? If you’re talking to us, we can’t hear you.”

Shepard reached up and flicked the switch on his visor. “It’s nothing, just testing something. How’s this? Better?”

“Yeah, that’s better,” Zaeed responded. “Now stop wastin’ time. Vido’s gettin’ away.”

Shepard lingered no longer, pressing hard and fast through the compound. He commanded and guided his squad as Miranda mostly observed. She offered warnings and points on occasion, pointing out environmental hazards and flanking enemies.

When flames erupted around Vido, Shepard looked away, unable to watch him burn alive. Miranda turned off the console.

On the ride back to the Normandy, Shepard sat apart from Jack and Zaeed in a darkened corner of the shuttle. Leaning forward, his elbows rested on his thighs, gloved fingers tapping his lips as he reflected over the most recent grounded mission. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, stretching his jaw and forcing the muscles to relax from his constant teeth grinding. Regret, guilt, and fury coursed through him. Glancing to his right, he eyed the casual and relaxed Zaeed. The mercenary proved dangerous, unpredictable, and rebellious. How could he trust the man to have his back and follow orders going forward?

When the shuttle docked on the Normandy, Zaeed and Jack left without sparing him a glance. Shepard lingered. After ten minutes, he blinked and pushed to his feet. His eyes burned, dried from his blank staring and deep simmering reflection. A little sore and furiously annoyed, he retired to his cabin and stripped out of his armor. He tossed the visor on the bed, the rest of the armor onto the floor before retreating to the shower to wash away the blood, soot, filth, and guilt.

Three of the four cleaned away, he left his shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. He paused at the top of the stairs and stared at the aquarium built into the wall. Shoulders slumped and he shook his head, muttering a few choice curses at the dead fish floating at the top. Ignoring the corpses for the moment, he walked to the bed and picked up the visor, checking the sides and front, searching for the cameras and modifications Miranda had made.

+++

In her office, Miranda examined the newly shipped Kestrel helmet. Her fingers grazed the line and she looked carefully at the inside. Setting the helmet on her desk, she sat and searched the Cerberus databases for any detailed specs on the new armor. The door to her office opened; she continued her work, ignoring the entrance.

Shepard stepped into the office and let the door close behind him. Fisting his visor in his hands, he watched her a moment before clearing his throat. “I was looking for that.” He pointed to the helmet on her desk.

“This armor was a prototype not long ago. How did you get it?”

“I’ve got my sources,” he brushed off casually and grinned at her annoyed glance. “So …” he placed the visor on her desk. “It would seem to me … that you doubt my battle skills.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Alright,” he pressed. “Then if that’s not the case, I can think of only one other reason you would do what you did to my visor.”

She reflected on the words a long few seconds, eyes averted from him and focused on the display of her computer console.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Talk to me.”

Glancing up at him, she released a nervous sigh and pushed to her feet, pacing behind her chair. “Look … this is a mistake. Nothing more.” She eyed him with resistant uncertainty. Pressing her hands into the back of her chair, she leaned forward, eyes unwavering from him. “I don’t know what this is. Stress, or just … blowing off steam or …”

“What are you so afraid of?” Shepard asked, and took a step to her, challenging. “That you might actually start caring for somebody?” He pressed the issue, unwilling to back away. He wanted her uncomfortable; it made her honest.

“This is no time for emotional entanglement!” She snapped and pushed off the chair though her voice trembled slightly. She walked to the bed. “You and I know more about the Collectors than anyone! We know how unlikely it is that we’re coming back alive.” Sighing, she sat at the foot of the bed, hands pressed into her thighs as she admitted. “What idiotic bunch of hormones thought that now was a great time for love?”

“Who said anything about love?” He joked with the tweak of a boyish grin. “I’m just trying to get you into bed.”

She smiled at his jest, head ducked and shaking slightly. “You ass …”

He stepped closer, soft smile still in place despite the sobering impact of his words. “Come on, Miranda, you want this.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I do. So don’t die.” Her voice cracked. “You promise me, damn it.”

He slowly shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. We could all be dead this time tomorrow. So if it’s not worth it …”

When he trailed off, she pushed to her feet and stepped towards him. He slid a hand along her waist. Her eyes closed as she stepped into his embrace, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. “No, it is.” She admitted reluctantly.

Shepard tightened his arms and turned his head slightly, inhaling the intoxicating scent lingering in her hair. He loosened his hold when she stepped back from the hug.

Still only a step away from him, she searched his eyes. Her expression unguarded; the usual icy walls crumbled and fallen, leaving her entirely exposed. “Give me some time. When I’m ready, I’ll come by, ok?” Averting her eyes, she stepped to the side to pass him.

“No,” he reached out, blocking her with a hand on her abdomen. “We’ve had a lot of time. And whenever you start to think, you start to rationalize and we’re four steps back from where we are now. I’m not letting you think.”

“Shepard,” she sighed and stepped away from him, her professional demeanor returned. “There’s a lot to do.”

“Not this time,” He stepped in front of her and slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her against him. He grinned confidently when she didn’t resist him. “You need this. Just like I do.”

She swallowed, pressing her hands into his chest with little force. Refusing to meet his eyes, she stared past his shoulder. “Hormones.”

“I know.” He leaned closer, a hand sliding along her hip then pressed into the small of her back.

Subconsciously, she lifted into him at the gentle cue. Ducking her head, she licked her lips. “Damn it,” she muttered and suddenly cupped the back of his head and pulled him closer.

He growled victoriously, kissing her with hunger. His fingers coaxed her closer and his head tilted, tongue eagerly seeking hers. Succumbing to the pleasure, he lifted her.

To keep her balance, she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking him in place. Fingers raked along his short hair, holding the back of his head, and as his lips trailed down her throat, her head tilted back. Sighing in pleasure, her legs tightened, coaxing.

His knees hit the bed and he leaned over, one arm around her back as the other reached down to the bed to brace himself. Her legs slackened, and she sighed contently, lips on his as she lay on the bed. He released her, planting his hands on the mattress at either side of her head as he kissed her feverishly. Finally, breathless, he pulled back. Panting, he held her eyes, his own lust hazed, and he tugged his shirt from his pants.

Kiss swollen lips parted, she eased back on the bed, eyeing him with intense desire. Pulling off his shirt, he dropped it to the ground then crawled onto the bed. He leaned out, kissing her as he hovered over her. Balanced on his knees and a single hand, he ran his free hand along her thigh, fiddling with the fasteners holding her boot to her thigh. Grunting his frustration, he jerked at them as his kiss intensified.

She slowed his kiss, extending his searing passion as her hand slid over his shoulder and down his arm to touch his hand. Her fingers gripped his, stopping his frantic movement. With only her kiss and the touch of that hand, she calmed him, soothed his raging need. At his deep hum, she flicked her fingers at the fasteners of her boots, unhooking them before guiding his hand back to its task.

Grinning against her lips, he pushed the boot down and tugged it off. “Too many clasps.”

“They’re my favorite boots,” she muttered.

“Your legs look great in ‘em.” He moaned and kissed her hotly again as he helped her remove the other boot as well.

Her hands slid along his chest while she slowed the kiss, easing back from him and further up the bed. Offering a teasing and seductive grin, she reached over towards the bed stand and tapped at the tiny console; the door locked.

Grinning wickedly, Shepard pounced up on the bed and lay at her side. He tugged at his belt as he kicked off his boots. Leaning over him, she kissed him hard, setting the pace. Without waiting for him, she straddled his hips, sitting on him and teasingly ground her hips. At his approving growl, she helped him with his belt and left it open.

With trembling hands, he fiddled with the fasteners and zipper of her suit. Assisting him immediately, she unbuttoned the side then pressed her hands into his chest to sit up. Easing back, she settled hard on his hips and held his eyes as she slowly unzipped the side of her suit and peeled it open.

His abdomen contracted, eyes locked on her slowly exposed flesh. Lips pressed to her chest and her back arched with a sigh. He jerked at the back of her suit, effectively locking her arms in place as he kissed, nibbled and nipped along the line of her collar. His teasing earned a growl of frustration from the back of her throat.

Shrugging out of the suit top, she pushed him hard back onto the bed. He matched her passion and hunger, fingers raking through her hair, pulling her down on him. Hands roamed and gripped.

As the pleasure mounted, his eyes rolled back and hips lifted up into her. Her suit discarded, his pants down to his knees, neither could wait. He gripped her waist, squeezing tightly as he matched her rhythm. His teeth clenched as his desire coiled deep inside, burning and twisting beyond his willing control. When his pleasure peaked, he sat up and kissed her hotly, a hand slipping between them to help her find the point of release.

She gasped into his lips at his touch, bucking against him and within seconds, she joined him in blissful completion. His fingers constant, he fell back, panting. He forced his eyes open, watching her ride the last of her desire and he grinned at the expression on her face. His free hand slid along her arm and around her back. Satiated, she leaned over him and pressed a soft and tender kiss to his mouth.

Sighing his content, his arms wound around her waist, holding her in place. Planting a foot into the mattress, he kept her with him through the kiss. Easing back, she pressed a hand into his chest and pushed back to look down at him. Smiling softly, she rolled off of him and stretched out onto the bed. With a low hum, she swung her feet over the bed and sat up, her back to him.

“Where you going?” he husked. Reaching out, he ran warm thick fingers down the delicate line of her back.

Turning her head, she peered back over her shoulder. Her lips kiss swollen and hair tousled, she met his gaze. “I ...” She trailed off, unsure of her answer.

“Don’t go,” he coaxed. “Not so fast. Stay.” His gentle voice pierced the cool walls she attempted to erect. “Plus, that was far too short. I can do better. In about twenty minutes.”

“Short, hmm?” Her head ducked slightly and he heard the smile in her voice. “First impressions are everything, you know.”

“Eh … cut a man some slack. When you’re dead for two years, it’s a miracle I can get it up at all.” He lifted up, balanced on his side with one hand. At her hesitation, he pressed. “Stay with me. We’ve got a few hours.”

With a resigned sigh, she nodded and slipped back into the bed. He reached down for the sheets and pulled them up over them. She faced away from him; undeterred, he pressed against her from behind. Kissing the back of her neck, he unfastened her bra and peeled it from her body. Molding his hand around her waist, he pulled her back into his chest, spooning her. She tensed; he remained resolute, holding her close and unwilling to release her. As she calmed, he smiled, whispering to her. “Not so bad … is it?”

“Could be worse.”

Chuckling softly, he kissed the back of her neck. Holding her and enjoying the comfort of her company, he lay behind her in silence for a few long minutes. As she relaxed in his arms, her breathing slowed but she didn’t sleep. “Why did you stop me?” he whispered.

Her eyes opened at the question and she hesitated in her answer. When he said nothing else, she replied. “The act would have entirely swung the dynamic of this mission and the crew, no matter the reason.”

“How could I just … I got a message from a friend. She said to me that I would be going down a darker path. And that I would have to do whatever it took to ensure the team behind me followed me with glad hearts. What good is that if innocents are dying everywhere I go?”

“This is war, Shepard. Collateral damage is, sadly, a result. Zaeed was chosen and hired because he is the best gun in the galaxy. He won’t shoot you in the back and he’ll do what he has to do when the time comes.”

“You can’t be sure.”

“I can,” she confirmed. “The Illusive Man paid him an exorbitant amount of money. Men like him follow the money. He knows he won’t get his full payment until after we’re back.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

Quiet a few seconds, she snuggled closer to him, settling into his embrace. “I have your back, Shepard. He’ll be dead before he can compromise this mission.”

An emotional warmth encompassed him at the statement, and he teasingly brushed his lips over her ear. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to drop him at the next space port?”

“Maybe … but we need every gun we can find willing to follow us. He proved himself on the Collector ship. That last mission was just his personal grudge. You let me call the shots when we went after Oriana. You let Jacob do the same. Now, Zaeed has.”

He nodded slowly as they lay in silence again. A few minutes later, he admitted. “I heard their screams. The explosions. And I ignored them.”

Turning in his arms, she eased back from him to better search his expression. Reaching up, she brushed cool fingertips over his cheek. “You did … exactly what you had to do. We all have burdens, Shepard. You just seem to carry twice as many as most.”

“What about yours? I’m here. You know, if you want to talk.”

“I … I know.” She offered a tender smile. “Thank you. But I’m alright. Really.”

He slid a hand along her waist then down over her hip and thigh. “I want to know more about you.”

“There isn’t much more to tell. You know about me already.”

“I get it,” he chuckled. “Another time. That’s alright. I’m patient. I’ll wait.”

“Hmm,” she arched a brow. “You’ll be waiting a long time. I don’t share.”

“We’ll see about that,” he leaned closer to kiss her softly. His hand intertwined with hers and he pressed closer to her, easing her onto her back as his hand pinned hers to the bed. “My turn.” Grinning broadly, he kissed her deeply.

+++

Rousing from sleep, Shepard hummed shifting and stretching on the soft mattress. His arms tightened around the warm nude form of his bedmate and he pressed closer, nuzzling the back of her throat. Inhaling the scent from her hair, he pressed his lips along her hairline as a hand splayed on her stomach.

Slender cool fingers slipped along his arm and rested over the back of his hand before intertwining with his fingers. Holding his hand steady, she tilted her head to give him room to explore her throat.

“How long was I out?” he husked.

“Not long enough. You’re exhausted.” Came the professional reply.

Quiet nearly a minute, he reveled in the feel of her, the comforting warmth of waking with her in his arms. Smirking, he teased. “So… you stayed.”

She shrugged casually. “Your hold is tight. When I tried to move, you started to wake up. So I stayed. You need your sleep.”

“Ah,” he nodded slowly and squirmed closer. “That it?”

With a smile, she shook her head but remained silent.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckled. “Feels good huh? I think it does.” He guided her hand to his thigh before abandoning her hand to stroke over her stomach again. “Did you sleep too?”

“A little.” Pushing into his thigh, she sat up; his arm slackened. Holding the sheet to her chest, she raked a hand through her hair, wiggling her fingers to push out the tangles. “I need to make the adjustments to your new helmet.”

“You mean put your cameras in,” he corrected. “Spy on me … whisper things in my ear.” At her annoyed glance, he grinned and flipped onto his back. Tucking one arm under his head, he reached out with the other, trailing his fingers down her spine. “I’ll let you do it, but only if you promise to talk dirty to me.”

She twisted at the waist, planting a hand on the bed to hold her steady as she faced him. “How could that possibly be of any assistance? Not that … I couldn’t, but all that would do is distract you. It would inhibit the mission.”

His grin broadened. “Extra incentive.” He laughed at her unconvinced expression. “You know. ‘It’s cold in my bed, John, hurry back.’”

She arched a brow. “Is that what you think I sound like?”

Shaking his head, he sat up, leaning back to balance on his hands. “I don’t know. Yes would probably get me kicked out of the bed.”

“Probably,” she stated, flatly, no emotion revealed in her voice or expression.

Unperturbed, Shepard pressed. “No would be lying.” He laughed and leaned away from her, blocking any incoming swing with his arm.

Rolling her eyes, a smile tugged at her lips as she pushed to her feet, dropping the sheet to walk away from the bed, unashamed. Either unaware or uncaring of her effect, she gathered her clothes and boots scattered around the bed. When he fell quiet, she set the boots on the nearby table then folded the suit and laid it on the couch.

“Commander, we’re in orbit of Lorek.” Joker announced through the communications system.

“Thanks, Joker,” Shepard answered.

“I have begun preliminary scans,” EDI added. “Anomaly detected.”

Sighing, Shepard stared at Miranda, eyeing her beautiful nude curves. “I’ll be right there.” When the communications system closed, he growled. “You make it hard to do my job.” At her concerned expression, he muttered a curse. “That does not mean I want this to stop.” Pushing out of the bed, he quickly closed the distance between them, sliding a warm palm along her cheek. “Come with me. Down to Lorek.”

Eyeing him with festering doubt, she questioned, “Why now? Appeasing my ego?”

“Yeah,” He smirked, teasingly. “But that’s not all. I want to try out my new helmet. See how I like it. And I want you at my side down there. So will you come?”

She nodded. “I’ll come. I need a few minutes to get ready.”

“That’s alright, so do I.” He offered a boyish smile and searched for then pulled on his pants. “No sense moving the cameras and comm piece to the new helmet if I don’t like it. Might as well try it out first, yeah?” Jumping into his pants, he ran his thumbs around the waist to pull it up then jerked his shirt on. Before leaving, he paused at her side, hand sliding up her waist then down again. “Promise me … no regrets.”

She hesitated. “About what?”

“Me,” he clarified intensely. “This. … Us.”

Searching his eyes with an unreadable expression, she finally nodded. “No regrets.”

He leaned down, kissing her with a slow and searing intensity. His stomach knotted at her teasing tongue and his arm bound around her waist. When finally breathless, he eased back and reluctantly released her. “Good. I’ll see you in about ten minutes.” When she smiled and nodded, he stole one more kiss, picked up his boots and left her office.

+++

In the hanger, Shepard tugged on his helmet, twisting it on his head to adjust it. He flicked the fasteners at the bottom, attaching the helmet to his new matching armor suit. Garrus leaned casually against a cargo crate, arms crossed over his chest. “It works for you, Shepard. The less of your ugly mug, the better off you’ll be with the ladies.”

Shepard laughed, testing the open areas of the helm around his nose and mouth before snapping the eye and forehead guard into place, leaving only the bottom part of his nose, cheeks mouth and chin visible. “You’re just jealous I make this look good. You still look like you were run over by the Mako.”

Jacob tugged on the helmet. “It’s attached, Commander. Can you see? How does it feel?”

“Feels good,” Shepard answered. “It’ll take some getting used to. Not used to having my head covered.” He tilted his head left, right, back then forward as he tested his range of motion. “I like it. Range finder seems accurate. There’s a heat sensor too … radar with red dots for heat signatures. Looks like it’s good to about forty yards. Somebody just walked into the bay, right?”

Jacob glanced to the entrance of the bay and nodded as Miranda entered. “Yeah. Miranda just walked in.”

“That’ll come in handy,” Garrus offered.

“Tell me about it,” Shepard agreed then turned to the Operative. “What do you think?”

“Looks like it fits you well,” Miranda commented as she slipped two earpieces on then pressed a button at the side. An orange visor extended over her eyes. She tugged on her dark colored armored gloves, matching the medium grade armor suit she wore only on rare occasions. “How’s your peripheral vision?”

“One eighty at most,” Shepard said. “But with the heat sensor radar, it doesn’t matter. I can see three sixty with that.”

“What about your scope?” Garrus questioned. “Don’t know about you, but I like having my sniper rifle as close to my head as possible.”

Drawing the weapon, Shepard spun on his heels and pointed the barrel to the top left corner of the hangar bay. He fiddled with it, changing its position and maneuvering his head until he saw properly through the scope. “It works. Awkward, but it works. I may be better with the assault rifle.”

“You like that sniper though,” Garrus commented then shrugged. “Well, a little practice on some mercs will do you good.”

Once landed, Shepard, Garrus and Miranda infiltrated the Eclipse overrun facility. The team worked as one, a well oiled machine. Shepard and Miranda stayed close, taking cover near each other. Her biotics complimented his raw firepower and matched with Garrus, the Eclipse stood no chance. As the leader emerged, all took cover behind the crates. Without a question, Shepard pulled two extra ammo clips from his pouches and slid them across the floor to Miranda. One in the open, he quickly lifted his gun over his crate to lay down suppressive fire and gave her the opportunity to collect her clips.

When the base cleared, Shepard cautiously stood, eyes scanning the room. The squad split to gather ammo clips and resource. Entering the back of the base, Shepard paused just inside the door, his eyes focused to the right. Curious, Miranda and Garrus entered behind him. Both paused as well.

The lost Cerberus Operative lay dead and torn on a steel table, his body bearing the signs of intense ‘interrogation.’ Miranda approached the table.

“Did you know him?” Shepard asked.

“No,” she replied simply. “From the looks of him though … well, I’m surprised he said nothing.”

Her casual words grated him. Garrus sheathed his rifle. “Looks like Cerberus is on the receiving end of the same interrogation they like to use.”

“This coming from the vigilante. And if he had the information you wanted on Sidonis … what would have you done?”

Garrus glared at Shepard. The Commander lifted his hands defensively. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t say a thing.”

“I have my sources,” Miranda explained. “Nothing stays secret for long. Information is as powerful a weapon as my biotics, or your rifle. Remember that.”

Stepping up to the table, Shepard winced at the condition of the corpse. “How could he endure it?”

“Simple,” Garrus answered. “Cerberus probably trains them for it.”

Shocked, Shepard looked to Miranda. “Is that true? How do you train someone to endure torture?”

Without hesitation, she spoke. “You torture them.” Motioning to the terminal. “Retrieve the information we are here for and forward it to the Illusive Man.”

Blinking, he absorbed her admission and turned from her to approach the terminal. Fingers gliding dexterously over the console, he hesitated. Glancing back at Miranda then to Garrus a second, he returned his attention to the console. He uploaded the information directly to the Normandy. “EDI, I uploaded some files to your system. They’re encrypted. I want to see what’s in those files.”

“Based on this level of encryption, full decryption will take some time. I will keep you posted, Commander.” EDI said.

Frowning, Miranda stepped forward. “What are you doing? That information is delicate and highly classified. It cannot fall into the wrong hands.”

“Do you know what’s on it?”

“No,” she shook her head. “But if he was tortured and never spoke, it’s vitally important.”

Shepard picked up a spare ammo clip. “I’m not sending that information anywhere until I know what’s on it.”

An hour after returning to the Normandy, Shepard stormed into Miranda’s office, his expression set, jaw clenched. In one hand he held his new helmet, the other, a data pad. She glanced up at his entrance, unalarmed at the urgency and annoyance at his entry. He handed her the data pad. “So … Cerberus are the good guys?”

“I never said that,” she answered and took the data pad skimming the texts.

“If that got out … Cerberus would be finished. And that’s just initial decryption. EDI said it will take up to a year to fully decrypt the file.”

Expression darkening, she read the data twice. “This can’t be right.”

“What? EDI’s decryption? Or that Cerberus would do any of that to begin with.”

“Cerberus practices in the extreme. I never claimed otherwise. But this can’t be right. If these lies got out, we would be seriously hindered in how we can function. We’d be pushed out of Council space.” Lifting her eyes, she searched his expression warily. “What are you going to do with this?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “Truth is, we don’t know if they’re truth or lies. You told me that Operatives don’t know about projects they’re not a part of. Protection. You may not have been informed of these.” Reaching out, he took the data pad. “For now, I’m just going to hold onto it. I like leverage. Never know when I might need it.”

She stood, pacing nervously passed him. “So why even show it to me? What are you trying to prove? Do you have any idea what will happen if even a breath of that information got out? Lies. You know firsthand what happens when lies spread about you. Look at how they treated you after the Battle of the Citadel.”

Expression darkening, the wounds still simmered.

“You see?” she motioned to him with a wave of the hand. “Why would you do that to us? We brought you back, Shepard. You’re alive and here right now because of us.”

“Yeah … I’m here now,” he said and placed the helmet on the desk, slowly positioning it so it appeared to watch her. “Cerberus brought me back. But not because of me. You didn’t want me, Miranda. You wanted the results I can produce.”

“The same thing!”

“No, it’s not.” He interrupted her. “You knew my history. Every medical thing that ever happened to me and what day I was where, every choice I made. You had a psychological profile, I’m sure. But don’t try to tell me it was me you wanted. You wanted to stop the Collectors. You wanted a successful mission. And as far as humans go? I’d all but guarantee that.”

“You’re right,” she responded and faced him. “Do you want a bloody medal?” At his scowl, she continued. “The Illusive Man wanted you because you’d succeed. Or be the one who would get the closest. Don’t think that you mean nothing though. You are Cerberus’s most important investment. We are all expendable compared to you. Myself included.”

“So we’re all pawns of the Illusive Man’s will. That doesn’t sit well with me. And the fact that Alliance money is paying for some of this …” he clenched the data pad in his hand and tossed it carelessly to the chair. It missed, clanked against the metal and fell to the floor in a flicker of orange and gold. The data pad turned off. “Torturing children … torturing biotics. Creating biological weapons. Where does it end?”

She glanced to the data pad on the ground. “Get off the pedestal. If you think the Alliance wouldn’t take a biological weapon for the upper hand, you’re seriously mistaken. As for the Council, look at the Spectres. Anything goes. As much as we like to think as much, we do not live in a galaxy of law. It’s an illusion spat at the masses to make them feel comforted. Why do you think they lie about the Reapers? Because they don’t want mass panic. Why do they have the Spectres? The Salarian Special tasks group. Samara and Asari Justicars. Standard Law is a veil.”

Clenching his teeth, he stood before her. “That doesn’t mean we ignore the laws. Or the ethics of what we do.”

“Which is why we stopped the experiments with the Rachni when we realized they were intelligent. And I was constantly cleaning up Rogue cells we shut down, or dispersing projects that failed to produce or stayed within our own code. Do you judge the Salarians so harshly for the Genophage? What about the Turians over the First Contact Wars? Maybe we should judge you, Shepard? How many innocents have died because of you or choices you’ve made? The Council …” she watched him and dared to press despite his darkening and dangerous expression. “How many other ships were destroyed during that battle? How many people were in that facility before you detonated a nuclear bomb?” She tilted her head. “How many would you sacrifice to win?”

At his deep growl, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Nothing is black and white.” Pausing a long moment, she pressed. “Give me the data.”

“No.”

Shocked, she squared her shoulders, stepping to him, challenging. “Don’t be stupid, Shepard. You have no idea what you’re doing. That information …”

“Scared, Miss Lawson? Your ass on the line now, hmm? Feel the fire? Sucks doesn’t it. Well get used to it. You find out that you’re with an organization that does this kind of shit and you’re still defending them?”

“Of course,” she snapped. “This is my life we’re talking about, Shepard. And if you think I’m just going to sit back and let you sabotage everything that I have, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Incredulous, he stepped to her and shook his head. “I’m not trying to destroy you. I’m trying to open your eyes before you get into this thing too deep.”

“Too deep? Shepard, I’ve been with Cerberus ever since I ran away from my father. I am as entrenched in this organization as I can be. And I don’t intend to leave it. We are doing what we have to do to ensure our survival as a species. Why are you so short sighted?”

“Why are you so blindly loyal?”

“It isn’t blind loyalty! Cerberus has given me everything. They took me in. Protect my sister. My father gave huge sums of credits to Cerberus but they took me and kept me even after he pulled his backing.”

“Of course they wanted you. You epitomize the genetic perfection of what humans are supposed to be. Why wouldn’t they want you with them? Even if for nothing more as a propaganda piece.”

She pointed a finger at his chest, glaring. “I am not a walking advertisement. It is not me that everyone is buzzing about. It’s you. Recruitment has skyrocketed since the talks of your return. And that you’re working with us. We’re seen as the winning side. If anyone is a propaganda piece, it’s you. Now that you’re affiliated with us, that information you downloaded will hurt you more than any of us. Cerberus will be crippled, but we won’t die. It will destroy you. Face it. You’re the face of Cerberus now. Everyone knows what emblem is on your armor.”

He grinned triumphantly. “That so? Because all I have to do is present it to the Alliance … and I’m sure you can guess what will happen to me then.”

“I could,” she responded calmly. “You get patted on the back, maybe a medal or two and then grounded at some fringe colony to keep you out of trouble. Too much red tape and political backlash follows you. You’re not worth the risk to the Alliance.

Crossing his arms, he eyed her with controlled calm. “So it seems we are at an impasse. Where do we go from here?”

“You give me the data.”

He laughed. She glared. Shaking his head, he passed her and crouched to pick up the discarded and broken data pad. “Good try, Sweetheart. But that’s not going to happen.” He pointed to his head. “See, I’m stupid. You need to try to explain it better to my little soldier’s brain. Why would I give it to you again?”

Growling her frustration, she returned to her desk. “You’re bloody impossible! Short sighted … ignorant … fool!”

“Aw, tell me how you really feel,” he goaded and his grin broadened at her annoyance.

“I’ll get it.”

“We’ll see.” He picked up his helmet from her desk. “I’m keeping this helmet. Still want to put the cameras in? Still care, Miss Lawson?” he challenged her, offering the helmet.

Eyes narrowed, she hesitated as if to make her point. Finally, she grabbed the helmet from his hands and ignored his victorious smile. “I’ll be in the armory.” Without another word, she tucked the helmet under her arm and picked up his old visor as well as her combat earpieces and left him standing in the office.

+++

In the armory, Shepard sat in one of the chairs, a foot up and resting on a stool as he watched Miranda work. Jacob retired to sleep half an hour after they entered. She ignored Shepard, leaning over with delicate tools as she manipulated and installed the various camera and communication components into the new helmet. Two hours passed, and she altered her earpieces. He leaned forward, watching her curiously. “What are you doing now?”

She placed the ear pieces behind her ear and triggered the visor holograph to extend. “Making sure it works.”

“On your visor?” He grinned at that. “So you can spy on me through your visor too? Well well, Miss Lawson. Seems you do care.”

Smirking, she shook her head as she adjusted a setting on the right earpiece. “Ass …”

“Here’s the deal,” he offered. “If you get to see mine. I want to see yours.”

“I believe you’ve seen mine already.”

He hummed. “Mmm, that I have. How about a second viewing?”

“My hands are a little full.”

He grinned. “Mine aren’t.” He reached out to her, fingers teasing the button at the top corner of her suit.

She shot him a warning glare and swatted at his hand. He simply chuckled and eased back though his fingers lingered along her thigh. She didn’t push him away. “So, you can see one of my cameras in your visor right?” He asked and at her nod, he continued. “Put a camera in yours for me to see through my helmet. It’s only fair. If you see what I see, I get to see what you see.”

She paused, eyeing him with confusion. “Why?”

“Why do you think?”

Lowering her hands, she sighed. “Shepard, we were at each other’s throats a couple hours ago.”

“I’m over it,” he responded. “Are you?”

“No,” she answered honestly then looked up at him. “But I won’t hold your idiocy against you.”

“You know,” he rested his arms on the table, leaning forward. “Some men would be pretty pissed when their woman and XO is constantly calling them stupid.”

She slowly shook her head, returning to her work. After a few comfortably silent minutes, she admitted. “I’m not over it. It is … unsettling. The information you found. You can’t blame me, can you? My future may be held hostage by what you decide to do with that data.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m not going to ruin you, Miranda. I didn’t send the data to Cerberus or the Alliance. I kept it.”

“Why won’t you just … destroy it?”

“I can’t do that.” He moved closer to her, setting his stool beside her. “We both need to know the truth. Then we will decide what to do with it.”

“EDI said it will take over a year to decrypt it.”

“I know,” he answered. “So either it will get destroyed with us when we get stuck beyond the Omega 4 relay or if we manage to survive this crazy mission, we’ll bring it back. And then see what happens. So how about we don’t worry about it until after we kick some Collector ass.”

Nodding her agreement, Miranda sobered and focused intensely on her work.

Shepard watched a few minutes. “You know … after a fight, it’s usually customary to … celebrate the resolution.”

“Is that how this works?” She commented flatly, squinting to alter a small part of the earpiece and activate the visor. Utilizing her omni-tool, she tapped and swiped her fingers to activate a camera option through the visor. “Sex after every fight? I suppose we’ll be in bed every four hours with that kind of requirement.”

He laughed at her, emotion swelling at the tiny quirk of her lip, the only indication of her teasing amusement. “I wouldn’t object.”

“We’d never get anything done.” She turned her attention to the helmet.

“Oh something will get done,” he commented with a teasing trail of his fingers along her waist. He chuckled when she jumped. His head tilted and he leaned closer to her.

“Perhaps. But nothing professionally.” She twisted at the waist to face him and she rolled her eyes before leaning down to kiss his mouth softly. “Now … try on your helmet.” With a sassy grin she pulled back and pushed the helmet onto his head.


	17. Chapter 17

Shepard stood at the center of the traditional grounds for the Krogan ritual rite. His eyes scanned the area with professional awareness, taking note of cover, ammunition, and scattered medi-gel packs. Grunt paced restlessly, demanding the start of the right. Shepard shook his head. “Not so fast. Check the area. Find the cover. We have no idea what will be coming. Better to be prepared.”

The Commander kicked a medi-gel container and crouched to pull out one of the packets, slipping it into the extra pouch at on his leg guards. “Ready?”

“Push the button, Shepard,” Grunt stated and punched a fist into his opposite palm. “My blood burns.”

Garrus adjusted the assault rifle against his shoulder and took a position beside the top of one of the three staircases. Grunt drew his shotgun while Shepard pulled the sniper rifle off his back.

“The quarters are tight, Shepard,” Miranda offered through his earpiece. “I don’t think the sniper rifle is your best choice.”

Shepard glanced back at his squad mates and at their ready nod, he pushed the button to bring the first wave. Quiet, Shepard glanced from one side to the other and his brow furrowed at the low grumbles and scratching sounds. The squad shared an understanding nod and spread out. Shepard lifted his gun, pressing the butt into his shoulder and scanned the area.

Bounding from the sewer pipes, a small horde of Varren emerged. Eyes intense and rabid with hunger, the beasts charged. Grunt grinned and blasted his first shot into the head of the nearest beast. Shepard aimed quickly, easily setting the approaching Varren in his sights before pulling the trigger. The swarm continued, overwhelming.

“Shepard, six O’clock.” Miranda warned in his ear and Shepard quickly spun and pulled the shotgun off his back. Holding it at his hip, he blasted the center of the chest of a lunging enemy. It crumbled at the Commander’s feet. His sniper rifle dropped as he kept hold of the shotgun, blasting rhythmic shots into the nearing beasts.

Grunt roared, adrenaline rushing as he tucked his shoulder and charged one of the snarling Varren, slamming the beast into a nearby pillar and grinning victoriously as it crumbled to the ground. Garrus grunted, knocked back as two leapt at his chest. He punched one, knocking it off as the other bit at his throat. With a single hand around the beast’s neck, he held it back, struggling as more swarmed him. “Shepard!”

“Four O ‘clock, Shepard,” Miranda quickly stated.

Shepard turned his head, glancing back. “Garrus!” He fired the shotgun, charging forward. “Grunt!” When the Krogan turned at the sound, Shepard slammed the butt of his gun into the head of one of the beasts on Garrus. He kicked a second in the chest while Garrus shoved the barrel of his assault rifle into the third’s mouth and pulled the trigger.

The back of the Varren’s head exploded in a splattering of bone, blood, and flesh, coating the back of Shepard’s armor. Grunt pulled the last Varren off Garrus and smashed his boot onto its skull. The Varren twitched then stilled. Quiet, the three paused, eyes darting quickly and waiting for another attack. None came.

Grunt shifted his weight, reloading his weapon. “What a rush … again. Push the button, Shepard. I’m ready for more.”

Reaching down, Shepard gripped Garrus’ hand and helped him to his feet. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Garrus answered and straightened. “Thanks. I may have taken on one too many.”

Shepard smirked. “Maybe.”

Shrugging, Garrus checked his ammunition. “I had five up until that point. You’ve been slacking.”

“You’re both slacking.” Grunt commented. “I killed at least ten before you were defeated.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Garrus. “Shape up. We don’t need weak allies.”

“We’re a team here,” Shepard quickly defended before the situation escalated. “We all have our own strengths and sometimes we’ll trip. But to stay strong, we have to keep everyone standing. Or else you get flanked. Then you die.” He turned to Grunt, poignant and strong. “Alone, you would have died to the waves. Together, we’ll get through this. No other way.”

Grunt huffed. “Krogan don’t follow the weak. We follow the strong. Prove your strength, Shepard, and I’ll consider what you say.”

Shepard nodded curtly. “Good. Gather up some spare clips then group up before we push the button again.”

Grunt and Garrus separated but not before sharing a piercing glare. Shepard watched both carefully before glancing at his feet and picking up a thermal clip. “Don’t turn your back on him,” Miranda commented. “He’s young and may be experiencing a blood lust. Stay cautious and don’t hesitate if you have to act.” A pause. “Ammo clip to your right.”

Shepard turned and picked up the clip, slipping it into his ammo pouch. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready,” Grunt commented, pacing impatiently.

When the turian nodded his readiness, Shepard pressed the button again, triggering the second wave. Quickly reloading his shotgun, Shepard eyed the area, listening carefully for the next coming attack. Confused at the lack of combat, Grunt lowered his weapon, growling his displeasure. Garrus turned alert and ready. His head tilted to look over his scope and he muttered a curse. “Incoming.”

Shepard spun quickly, eyes searching the direction Garrus faced. “Harvesters! Take cover. Be ready.”

“They’re going to drop Klixen.” Miranda stated.

“I know.” Shepard answered.

“Keep them at length. When they get close they …”

“I know!” He exclaimed, cutting off the Operative and ignored the curious momentary glance of the turian. “Don’t let them flank you.”

The wave unending, Shepard quickly used all the ammunition for his shotgun. Two Klixen approached, claws extended and seething mouth wide. Shepard fumbled, switching out to his assault rifle though his grip slipped. He stumbled, tripping down the stairs. His feet moved quickly, keeping traction and he balanced erect. Miranda called out a warning in his ear as the Klixen reared back and a ball of flame erupted from its gaping maw. With no cover insight, Shepard lifted his arm and turned his head, exposing his side and arm to the searing inferno. His armor burned, the metal absorbing the heat; the hairs on his arms, chest and legs singed, the flesh warmed.

“Shepard, get out of there!” Miranda repeated. “Back up, it’s too close.” When Grunt blasted a shot towards the Klixen nearest Shepard, she called out. “Shepard, move now!”

The left side of his body ached and burned from the fire but his muscles obeyed and he turned to run – too late. With Grunt’s shot, the Klixen stumbled, dragged then rolled down the stairs towards Shepard and exploded within a few meters of his back. The blast dropped his lowered shields, knocking him to the ground.

His eyes rolled open a moment later as he woke from the few second black out. “Shepard,” Miranda called to him, voice sharp and commanding. “Shepard, get up.” He moaned and planted his right hand onto the ground and pushed himself up onto his knees. His body ached, the left side burning from the first blast, his back warm. The left side of his face ached and he tentatively opened his mouth to stretch the jaw. The flesh of his cheek tore and tensed, charred and cracked. Orange synthetic material glowed sporadically throughout the wound marking the true nature of his composition beneath the skin. Struggling to his feet, he tentatively reached for his face and winced painfully as the armored fingers brushed the flesh.

No blood dripped from the wound, any open sores instantly cauterized by the heat of the blast. Grunt approached him from behind, shotgun in hand. “Damn, Shepard. Didn’t think you’d get up from that.”

“I don’t think most humans would,” Garrus commented. “But Shepard’s a tough son of a bitch.”

Shepard forced a chuckle, hiding any wince and turned towards his squad mates. “What kind of hero would I be if a Klixen killed me?” He tilted his head to offer Garrus a view of his injured face. “How bad is it?” Every word hurt, the muscles and flesh stretching, hardening and tingling with each movement.

“Pretty bad.”

Grunt shook his head. “You humans are too soft.”

“Shepard, what happened?” Miranda asked in his ear, urgent with concern. “Your vitals have recovered but …”

“How many more of these?” Shepard asked rhetorically then sent his squad to recover any ammo and medi-gel pacs. He pulled off one of his gloves and tucked it under his arm as he pulled a medi-gel from the pouch on his leggings. With his bared fingers, he flicked a button on the underside of his helmet. “I’m alright,” he said softly for Miranda. “It got me close. Hurts like hell. I’ll need to hit the med lab. Doctor Chakwas is probably sick of seeing me.” He bit on the edge of the medi-gel, tearing it open with his teeth and spit the little piece of packet from his mouth onto the ground. Squeezing the gel onto his hand, he coated his face. It burned, sizzled, soothed, then cooled.

“She must be used to it by now based on your track record,” she responded. “Did you ever return from a mission without being shot, cut, bruised, burned, or battered?”

“Don’t think so,” he managed a smile though it hurt and forced his expression neutral. “No tongue kissing tonight with half my cheek blown off.” And he grinned broadly through the pain at her annoyed sigh. He massaged the rest of the medi-gel into his cheek and lower jaw then pulled the glove back onto his bared hand. Grunt paced impatiently by the button. He switched the frequency again of his communications device. “Ready?”

Both squad members nodded and Shepard triggered the next wave. Miranda voiced her concern. “Be careful, Shepard.” Tucking his shotgun tightly into his shoulder, he waited, scanning. The ground rumbled; he frowned. “Oh … hell no.” A thresher maw burst from the earth, jaws gaping wide. Shepard and squad dove behind cover.

“Finally, a challenge!” Grunt exclaimed with joy.

Heart racing, Shepard tucked his shotgun away and pulled the Arc Projector off his back, checking the current ammo before peering up over the stone pillar towards his target. He maneuvered easily with the heavy weapon, dodging the incoming toxic spit and crumbling pillars. With Grunt at the front, Garrus with a sniper rifle and Shepard using a heavy weapon, the thresher maw fell; Grunt proved himself a Krogan.

Despite Miranda’s protests, Shepard refused any medical attention until after he assisted Mordin. On the shuttle ride back to the Normandy, Mordin carefully applied additional medi-gel to Shepard’s scorched face. “Thank you, Shepard. For helping. Experiments horrific, but data far too valuable.”

“I know your initial response was to destroy it for ethical reasons. But how many more Krogan would die for you to get back to this same point.”

“True,” Mordin agreed with a nod and sat back in his chair, a finger brought to his lips as his thumb hooked under his chin in thought – a habit. “Motives, admirable. Methods, atrocious. Should have killed him. Will likely do something just as foolish again. But … too late.” He inhaled sharply, eyes narrowed in conviction. “I will study these results.”

“You’ll do the right thing in the end, Mordin. I know you will.” Shepard stated, firmly then pointed to his left cheek. “So how bad is it? Really?”

“Bad,” Mordin nodded. “Horrible burn. Must get you to med bay at once. Interesting.” He tapped his chin in thought. “I’m curious how much of you is synthetic. The orange glow. Quicker regeneration. Almost super-human abilities. Unlike anything I’ve seen. If you permit, Shepard, would like to study you.” He lifted a reassuring hand. “No experiments. Nothing intrusive. Just some DNA scans. Some readings. If what Cerberus did to you can be replicated … huge advancement in medicine.”

“I wasn’t cheap,” Shepard responded with a smile. “Four Billion credit investment here.”

Mordin shook his head. “Only because you are the first. First experiments always costly. Replication comes soon after.”

Shepard tugged off his gloves then flicked open the clasps at the collar of his suit. Carefully, he removed his helmet. The burn on his cheek and jaw extended further than first appearance, wrapping around his jaw and along his neck. Grunt shook his head. “That’s why you don’t shove your face into an exploding Klixen.”

+++

Shepard slowly roused. Outstretched on a cool metallic medical bay bed, he shifted to stretch his weary muscles. The air cool on his naked skin, his face soothed with a moist gel and only a white cloth lay over his hips. He forced his eyes open, wincing at the bright white lights, glaring and intense.

“Commander Shepard. Take your time.”

Doctor Chakwas. Shepard tilted his head towards the familiar voice. “How long?” he husked, hoarse and gruff from sleep.

“Six hours now,” the doctor answered. “It’s a good thing you had us install this device. It’s done marvels for your injuries. Don’t move.” She scolded as he struggled to sit. When he stilled, she touched the wounds on his chest then forearm. “Another hour and it should be healed properly.”

“My face too?”

“Yes.”

He lifted his head, focusing on the wounds at the left side of his body. The burns and scorching nearly healed – scarring from the synthetic grafting all that remained. He reached up to touch his face. “It’s just scarring.”

“Not necessarily, Commander. The skin has healed over but there may be wounds underneath. An hour is not going to change anything.”

His head fell back. “There’s too much to do. I don’t have time to waste.”

“Then you should have thought about that before you let a Klixen get so close.” Miranda commented.

He looked towards the door. “Wasn’t a choice.”

Biting back a retort, she shook her head, crossed her arms, and dipped her hip, unimpressed. Doctor Chakwas adjusted the intensity to increase healing output. “He’ll be fit for duty within the hour, Operative.”

“Good,” she approached the bed and reached out with gentle cool fingers to touch the line of his jaw and the fresh scar.

He sobered at her attention though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Worried, Miss Lawson?”

She couldn’t resist a smile at his teasing and slowly shook her head. “Are you remotely aware of your effect on my mental health? It’s not positive.”

“You just don’t like being in situations you don’t control,” he offered lightly though his eyes gave way the seriousness of his observation.

She met his eyes, challenging. “And far too often you dismiss sound advice simply because you did not think of it first.”

“Touché.”

Miranda nodded in agreement. “We can leave the system now, unless you had something else to do on Tuchanka?”

“No, I think we’re done here.” The Commander stated. “Joker, set a course for the Citadel. But don’t dock, we’re going outside that system.”

“Aye aye, Commander.”

After Joker’s affirmation, Miranda tilted her head, curious. “Where are we going?”

“Bekenstein. Just something quick to do for Kasumi. We won’t be long. A day or two at most. While I’m groundside, take the Normandy and do some mining. We need more upgrades to the ship and our gear.”

Her eyes averted momentarily – a habit when thoughtful. “Of course, Commander.” Without another word, she left the medical bay.

“Odd,” Shepard whispered to himself, eyes on the closed door before he lay back again, relaxing.

“What is that?” Doctor Chakwas asked.

“Her reaction.” He answered then dismissed any concern. Releasing a heavy sigh, he calmed. His cheek and pectoral muscles twitched occasionally with the healing procedure as the nerves pricked and danced with the stimulation.

“Be cautious, Commander,” Doctor Chakwas whispered. When his eyes opened, she continued. “We have the same goal now, but never forget this is a Cerberus vessel with a Cerberus crew. We saw what they did.”

“I won’t forget,” Shepard stated, confidently. “But this crew is mine now. I’m responsible for them. Cerberus or Alliance, that doesn’t matter.”

“I understand. And I am their doctor. But I still reserve caution when dealing with their Operatives.”

“Noted.”

+++

Miranda stood before the full length mirror in the small room of a local hotel on Bekenstein. She smoothed her hands down the sleek and silken lines of her midnight blue evening dress – stylish, flattering and tight. It accentuated the curves of her chest, waist and hips, exposing her shoulders before sleeves extended down to the wrist with no room to conceal a sidearm. No need, her biotics proved powerful enough should she need.

She adjusted the clips and picks, holding her hair up in a twist off her neck. Leaning forward, she finished applying the eye pencil and accentuated her eyelashes. Smoothing the tone of her skin and adding a delicate, inviting and natural lip color, she forced a pair of draped earrings through the too often unused pierced ears.

Checking her teeth one last time, she slipped her feet into delicate heeled sandals as she tapped a few buttons on the private terminal of her hotel room. “Shepard.”

“Miranda?”

“I need a few hours on Bekenstein. I won’t be long.”

“Uhm … alright. Do you want us to wait for you to bring the shuttle down? I’m still on the Normandy.”

“No need but thank you.”

“Just be careful.” Shepard said. “This place is seedy at best. Like Omega with cleaner streets.”

She smirked at the sweet but unnecessary warning. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. But humor me. Contact me when you’re back. When I’m done, I’m going to need a fast extraction.”

“Like I said. Two to three hours at most.” She disconnected the communication and closed the private terminal. She slipped a tight fitting bracelet onto her wrist, fastening a thin strap over the back of her hand, between her middle and ring fingers then pulled it taut over her palm before slipping the end into the other side of the bracelet. Omni-tool secured she tapped her finger on the side to activate it then manually calibrated the tool for her informational purposes, uploading the necessary data from her network.

Cerberus suit folded to the side, she checked the room once more before leaving, locking the door behind her.

On the small flight to her destination, Miranda gripped the holding bar at the side of the door in the Cerberus shuttle, unwilling to sit in the greasy, bloody and dirty seats. Jacob called back to her from the pilot seat. “Miranda, you don’t have to do this. We can get rid of the gun shipment somewhere else.”

Glancing to her side, Miranda eyed the four crates of weapons. “We can’t have them on board the Normandy. One crate is useless and the other three are too hot. With the attention Shepard is getting, we can’t afford to be tied up with those in our cargo hold. Our mission is too important to be delayed by weapons smuggling red tape. Especially with how often we’ve been at the Citadel.”

“But Donovan Hock?”

“I can handle Hock. You just be ready to extract when I call.”

“I’ll be ready,” Jacob answered and glanced back over his shoulder as movement caught his eye; she stood at the cockpit entrance, hands gripping for balance in the heeled shoes as she swayed with the slight turbulence. “Kind of like old times,” he commented. “Only this time I’m the handler, and you’re going in.”

She smirked. “With less gunfire, hopefully. It’s one of his standard parties. The kind where he flaunts his money to others in his circle. Drink this fancy wine. Here’s a delicacy. He’s easy to read and to manipulate, but he’s a valuable contact. I owe him a visit, and he owes me a favor. He’ll take the crates. I may not be able to get much, but he’ll at least let me drop them for at cost.”

“We could just fly over the ocean and shove them out the side.”

She arched a brow, surprised. “Why would we do that? With the Collectors here and the Reapers coming, we can’t afford to throw away arms just because they’re smuggled. He’ll rip people off for them, but at least they’ll have a weapon. All the good it’ll do against a reaper, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He agreed. “If nothing for a morale boost. At least with a gun in your hand, you feel like you have a chance. You know?” He said deeply and hovered the craft just over the landing area for Hock’s private villa. “Be careful, Miranda. He’s dangerous.”

“I know.” She released the bars. “And I know his weakness.” She turned from the cockpit and when the door to the shuttle opened, she stepped out and onto the villa’s patio.

“Step forward please,” one of the armed guards called and waved her forward with a gloved hand. “Stand still for scanning.”

“Do you really think I could hide a weapon under this dress?”

The guard ducked his head as if inspecting, his helmet blocking any eye movement. “Standard procedure.” She watched him calmly and kept silent as he scanned her a second time. The guard nodded his approval, tapping his omni-tool. “You’re all set, Miss Lawson. Mr. Hock is inside.”

Offering a slight nod of thanks, she carefully walked up the stairs and into the luxurious villa. Meandering through the small crowd, she greeted familiar faces and stopped to talk when two approached her for longer conversations. Hock noticed her within fifteen minutes. “Miss Lawson,” He greeted with a viperous smile. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Donovan,” she returned the greeting and offered a winning smile, a hint of flirtation. “How could you if you don’t invite me?”

He chuckled, flicking his wrist dismissively. “Technicalities. You are most certainly always on my list. Come, there must be some here you don’t know. I will make introductions, yes?” He guided her further into the party, introducing and including her in a few conversations with some of his more powerful friends.

Miranda followed his lead, happily establishing the contacts. Charming and strong, she played the part to ensure an established relationship with those she thought useful. Hock excused himself momentarily then returned with a sleek wine glass, quarter filled. “Miss Lawson.” He offered the glass. “I remember.” He addressed the three men around her. “She has fine expensive tastes.”

“Who wouldn’t after a taste of this?” She smirked and lifted her glass slightly to him as a toast then took a trusting sip. The rich full-bodied liquid swirled around her tongue and she swallowed, delighted at the fine smooth taste of the Asari wine.

Leading Miranda slightly to the side, Hock spoke low, intense though still slick and inviting. “So, Miss Lawson, you rarely make social calls. I assume you are here for business.”

“I must admit I am,” she searched his eyes. “You know me too well, Donovan,” the hint of flirtation returned, never overwhelming but instead slight and intriguing. She knew exactly how to draw him.

A smirk tugged his lips as his eyes scanned her face appreciatively then down the line of her neck. “Still, you always do dress for the occasion. And I always appreciate your … how should I say … mmm, enthusiasm.”

She chuckled. “I am always enthusiastic about things that interest me.” She leaned forward to whisper. “Both business and pleasure.”

“That so,” His voice deepened and he tensed just slightly at her closeness.

“Mr. Hock, sir. We’ve got a problem out front.”

“Ah,” he slowly shook his head and offered a slick grin. “Is it not always the case, Miss Lawson? We are interrupted at the most inopportune times.”

“It seems so. We may have to change that situation later, hmm?”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” He smiled and inclined his head. “Excuse me,” then turned to walk confidently towards the front of the villa.

When he left, Miranda sobered and returned to the party, mingling and reestablishing contacts as she waited for her opportunity. As she chuckled at the joke offered by a grey-haired party guest, her eyes wandered to the front of the villa and Commander Shepard striding confidently inside in a dress suit without weapons. Her expression careful in place, she returned to her conversation; internally, she cursed.

Miranda pivoted at the hip to keep her back towards Shepard as she engaged the two powerful and dangerous men before her – one an arms dealer, the other a financial embezzler. Perceptively, she caught glances of Shepard as he casually moved through the room, eyes on people and the surrounding interior. Curious but patient, she waited. For nearly ten minutes, she lost sight of Shepard.

“Miss Lawson,” Hock drawled, slick and heavy from behind the operative. “I have someone I would like you to meet.” When Miranda turned, Hock took her hand. “I know him by reputation only but from what I do know … he’s a connection you will want. Miss Lawson, I present Solomon Gunn. Mr. Gunn, this is Miranda Lawson.”

She met Shepard’s eyes and offered a small smile, her demeanor and expression professional. “Donovan … Mr. Gunn and I are already acquainted.” She slipped her hand from Hock’s to reach for Shepard. “How long has it been?”

“Almost a year,” Shepard answered smoothly and took her hand in professional greeting. “Omega, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm,” She nodded then glanced to the two men at her side. “The best place to do business, don’t you think?”

One laughed, nodding his agreement. “Some of my best and worst business decisions happened inside Afterlife.”

Hock lifted his glass at the comment. “You and me both.”

“Well I hate to end the fun,” Shepard interrupted, “But may I speak with you in private, Miss Lawson? I have some business to attend to and I think you may be very interested with its prospects.”

She arched a brow, intrigued. “That so?” She offered a beaming smile towards Hock and the nearby guests. “I hope you’ll excuse me but I can never turn down an opportunity to acquire another favor.”

Hock laughed, flicking his wrist in a dismissive gesture. “By all means, I do not blame you. Business always comes first. We also have some business to settle, Miss Lawson.”

“I won’t forget,” she winked flirtatiously and strode passed Shepard towards the large glass doors leading to the balcony.

Shepard inclined his head politely to Hock and then the two guests before turning and following Miranda outside. He paused at the door, eyes raking her body as she stood near the banister, back to him and hands resting gently on the railing. Kasumi’s voice echoed through his head. “My God, Shepard … have you ever seen anything quite so …”

“Thank you … Kasumi,” Shepard growled through clenched teeth.

“Just saying, Shepard,” she cooed flirtatiously.

Grunting, he stepped down the stairs and gripped the railing of the balcony beside the Operative. Tense, eyes boring, he stared dangerously at the city across the water.

“Calm down,” Miranda commanded softly. “We’re discussing business. Relax. You’re tense.”

Exhaling a slow breath, he calmed. His shoulders lowered, and he tilted his head slightly to one side to stretch. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I told you,” she responded simply. “Business. What are you doing here? Do you have any idea who those people are inside? And Solomon Gunn?”

“I’m here for Kasumi,” Shepard answered. “She asked for a favor.”

“You blow doors down, Shepard, not infiltrate state-of-the-art facilities. You’re not a thief, you’re the muscle.”

He shrugged. “Don’t think I did too bad.”

“He’s doing fine,” Kasumi muttered, though cloaked on Miranda’s opposite side.

Miranda closed her eyes a moment and then opened them, scanning the horizon in thought. “Well now you’ve entirely complicated my situation.”

“You did the same to me,” Shepard said flatly, voiced tinged in sarcasm. He paused a moment before turning his head slightly to watch her profile. His eyes quickly scanned down her body and up again. “You’ve got to get out of here. Things will get … complicated.”

“I have important business,” she challenged. “So don’t make things complicated until I’m done. Think you can handle that?”

Shepard smiled and turned to lean into his side against the banister. He leaned forward, flirtatious. Despite his outward appearance, his words resounded with deep warning. “Miranda, get out. These men are dangerous and I need my squad.”

“Don’t get too close,” she pressed a hand into his shoulder to keep him back and offered a friendly smile, though she shook her head. “Hock thinks I’m here for him.”

“Here for …” he trailed off and though his expression gave nothing away, his voice darkened. “You’re seducing Hock?”

She faced him as well, casual. “What are you here for? I’ll help and get you out faster. Your face has been all over the galaxy. It’s only a matter of time before somebody here recognizes you as John Shepard.”

“She’s right, Shep,” Kasumi agreed. “We need to move fast and get into that vault.”

Reluctantly, Shepard also agreed and divulged their plan to Miranda. She listened intently to the plan and what they needed to get into the vault. “I can get you the DNA. Just give me about half an hour then get into his private chambers.”

“Sounds good,” Kasumi said. “How long will you need to do your thing?”

“Not long. I should be able to handle it all in that time.” She searched Shepard’s eyes. “Alright? Half an hour.”

“I’m not going to like this. But fine … half an hour.” Shepard answered and whispered. “Lean closer.”

“I warned you, no flirting.” She objected but leaned forward anyway.

“You just don’t flirt back,” he grinned. “Then rebuff me.”

She shot a glance toward the party and a watching Donovan Hock. She rolled her eyes and smirked at Hock’s laugh. “He sees us.” She whispered.

“I know,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re gorgeous. But I’m sure you know that already.”

“I know how to get what I want,” she answered and eased back, slowly shaking her head at him in dismissal.

“So do I,” he offered with a playful shrug though his eyes belied his actions – gaze intense and lustful. “Keep the dress.”

“I plan on it,” she offered teasingly and pushed off the balcony, walking back up the stairs. She ignored Shepard’s gaze following her and smiled warmly at Hock.

“You let him down gently, I see. Not your style, Miss Lawson.”

“No,” she laughed. “But I hate kicking the pup while he’s down.” She slipped her hand into Hock’s offered arm and returned to the party.

+++

Miranda stood beside the Cerberus shuttle, arms crossed as she leaned confidently into her hip. She glanced up at Hock as Jacob and three guards unloaded the crates. “Well … four crates. As promised. You can open them if you like.”

With a sly smirk, Hock glanced to the woman at his side. “Oh I trust you, Miss Lawson. But you see I will look anyway. It is a good business practice.” He offered a slight nod to one of his guards.

“Five eight three, two two six.” Miranda said calmly and shifted her weight in feigned impatience as the guard tapped the passcode onto the side panel. He pushed up the top of the crate and peered inside. At his affirming nod, Miranda turned to face Hock. “So, it seems everything is in order.”

“Just about,” he reached out, thick fingers stroking back the hair behind her ears as he admired her. “A woman who puts business first is always … admirable. But I must say after our wine in my private quarters, I believe we have some more personal matters to attend to. Don’t you think, Miss Lawson?”

She watched intensely as Hock’s eyes averted to the side as he listened to the whispers of his security in his ear. Miranda flirtatiously reached up to draw her fingers over her ear, tucking the hair back and carefully adjusted a setting of her own device in a quick attempt to find his frequency. Mid conversation, she found it and slowly licked her lips, reaching out with her hand to draw a finger down Hock’s chest.

“… sure what’s happening, sir. Maybe just a glitch. Thought we saw someone on the cameras.”

Hock looked down at Miranda and offered a seductive but menacing smile. “I fear, my dear, we may have to postpone yet again.”

“Really?” She stepped forward and slipped a hand up his chest and cupped the side of his throat. “And here I was looking forward to our reintroduction.” She tilted her head and leaned towards him to whisper. “Whatever it is, I’m sure your guards are more than capable. This place has better security than the Alliance Embassy.”

Hock hesitated as he peered down at Miranda. “I … my vault is a very special place.”

“I’m sure it is,” She flirtatiously brushed her thumb over his lips then leaned up to kiss him softly. Hock quickly cupped her cheeks and kissed her passionately, growling in pleasure at her eager response. She slowed his passions, hand on his shoulder as she tugged playfully on his lower lip.

Hock sighed when she broke the kiss, and his eyes fluttered open. Searching her gaze, he turned his head quickly and barked, pointing to his guards. “Find out what the hell is going on down there. If you interrupt me, someone better be dead.”

“Sir,” they stood tall and rushed off the loading bay into the back of the house.

Hock gripped Miranda’s wrist. “Where were we?”

She smirked playfully. “I believe we were about to go back to your room.” She kissed him again, teasing.

With an impassioned growl, he guided her in front of him and away from the docking area. Jacob stood at the entrance of the shuttle, hands extended over his head, gripping the bars at the shuttle’s side as he watched Miranda walk away.

When Miranda’s call arrived for extraction, Jacob hovered the shuttle at the pick-up point. He turned the latch of the side door and pushed it open, reaching down for her hand to help her up. Avoiding eye contact, he pulled at the latch and closed the door, locking them inside. Wordless, Jacob brushed by Miranda and sat in the pilot’s seat, steering the shuttle away from Hock’s house.

“Don’t go too far,” Miranda said. “Shepard will need an extraction and we should stay close.”

Jacob nodded though remained quiet. Miranda paced the length of the shuttle. She paused at one of the seats and her black packed bag. Opening it, she peered inside at the contents – all of which previously were in her hotel room.

“I cleared out your room,” Jacob answered. “Figured you were too busy and we didn’t have much time left after the Commander got back.”

“Thank you,” she stated simply and drew her fingers over the white cat suit. Sighing, she closed the bag and paced again before stopping at the small window to peer outside. The tension radiated from Jacob; Miranda ignored it. The silence enveloped the shuttle and Jacob glanced back over his shoulder once then again a minute later before returning his gaze out the front of the shuttle. She rolled her eyes. “What? Just say it.”

Still a second, Jacob turned suddenly, twisting at the waist to look back at her. “How do you do it?” He shook his head and pushed to his feet. “It’s probably none of my business.”

“Probably,” she responded coolly.

His eyes narrowed. “Look, I get it. You shed personalities, allies and enemies like skin cells. You always get what you want. Guess that’s what makes you the best.” He leaned back into his hip and crossed his arms over his chest. “We got history, Miranda. I won’t forget that.” He slowly shook his head and glanced out the side window towards Hock’s mansion in the distance. “How do you just … kiss somebody like that or sleep with them when they make your skin crawl? Don’t tell me that creep doesn’t make you just want to put a bullet in his head.”

At her silence, he just sighed and returned to the cockpit. “Look, nevermind. I get it. It’s all part of the job.” He sat in the pilot’s chair.

She turned her head just slightly to watch him return to the cockpit. “Jacob,” she waited until he glanced back at her. Standing confident at the shuttle door in her flawless gown with hair tied back, she held his strong gaze. “Not everything is just part of the job.”

He searched her expression before nodding. “Fair enough.”

“Jacob, can you read me? It’s Joker.” The Normandy pilot’s voice rang through the communication. “The Commander is requesting an immediate withdrawal.”

“I’m on it,” Jacob answered and gripped the controls for the shuttle.

+++

On board the Normandy, Shepard strode quickly down the corridor from Kasumi’s room. The thief masked her emotions well and only after sure she was alright did he leave her. He jerked at the clasps of his gloves, tugging the armor from his hand and he waved the glove over the sensor for Miranda’s office. He stepped inside, eyes searching the quarters as he locked the door behind him.

Miranda stood by her bed, back to the door. She wore the same dress, hair still tied back and make-up in place. Her sandals rested beneath her desk – likely the first discarded. Her fingers fiddled with the clasp of a necklace; she glanced over her shoulder at him.

He tugged the other glove off, dropping both to the floor with a clash as he closed the distance between them. Warm thick fingers reached up, tips tracing the lines of her shoulders before deftly sweeping her hands away. He slowly unfastened the clasp of the necklace but then refastened it. His fingers danced along the back of her neck then shoulders and back.

Miranda smirked at the attention. “I was removing it.”

“I like it,” he husked and ducked his head to kiss the back of her neck. “And I have far too much armor on.”

She turned to face him and reached up, fingers agile as she unhooked and unfastened the shoulder plates and chest piece. He helped her, shrugging out of the pieces and gently placing them on the ground, careful not to drop anything on her bare feet. He kissed her suddenly, lips holding hers as he jiggled and tugged at his belt while she worked the clasps around his thighs. She responded eagerly, fingers sliding up over his chest.

He growled at her touch, electrified despite the formal jacket between his body and her hand. She cupped his cheeks and kissed him again then once more before easing him back. Grinning wickedly, her hands dipped to help him remove his greaves. He chuckled and put his hands on his hips in cocky display.

“You can handle the boots, don’t you think?” She offered playfully.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged casually. “I was thinking you’d get down and give me a hand with that.”

She hummed and slipped a hand around his neck then lifted up onto her toes to kiss him softly. She murmured. “I don’t get on my knees that easily.” With a teasing smirk, she stepped back from him and around to the foot of the bed.

“Tease,” he growled as he watched her. With a sigh, he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at his boots, slowly pulling them off and setting them aside. He pushed out of his greaves and then ran his hands over the wrinkled formal suit. “Surprised I got the armor on over it.”

“It fits you well,” she complimented and picked up his greaves, moving them further from the bed before sitting beside him.

“You look amazing,” he whispered and smiled boyishly. “I walked into Hock’s place and I had no idea what to expect. Then I see you there and my first reaction was to wring your god damn neck … followed closely by tearing the dress off and have my way with you against the bookcase. Neither of which were probably a good idea.”

She laughed, her eyes alight and she shook her head. “No, probably not a good idea.”

He grinned at the laugh. “Yeah well, I have remarkable self control when I choose to use it.”

The atmosphere calmed in the comfortable silence that followed. Breaking the silence, both spoke at the same time then smirked at the realization. Shepard inclined his head to her, offering her the first words. “About Hock.” She whispered.

He nodded slowly, expression sobered as he searched her eyes. “I talked to Jacob.”

She licked her lips though gave no other hint of uncertainty. “You needed time.”

“Yeah, we did,” he agreed. Twisting at the waist, he cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her full bottom lip. “I don’t want to know what you did … what he did.” He swallowed hard as he held her eyes. “But never again. Promise me. I’m a jealous lover and I can’t … never again. We’ll find another way.”

She cupped his cheeks, pulling him towards her and leaned into him, capturing his lips in a heated and intense kiss. He responded with hunger, pulling her closer and he coaxed her back on the bed, pivoting them before pinning her with his hips. His lips traveled to her throat, nibbling and nipping as his fingers teased her sides. Her fingers slid through his hair, holding him to her neck as she sighed her promise.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Shepard leaned against the bar on the Port Observation deck, elbows resting at the edge as he held the cylindrical glass in his hand, swirling the potent red liquid. He swayed slightly – the signs of buzzed inebriation. He smiled bitterly then brought the glass to his lips, tilting his head back to pour the burning liquor down his throat. He swallowed every drop and closed his eyes before ducking his head and carefully placing the glass back onto the counter.

He shook his head, clearing some of the buzz and pressed his lips together to hold back the rumbling in his stomach. Releasing a slow hiss, he sat roughly on the stool and grabbed the half-filled bottle of red liquor. He swirled the bottle, watching entranced at the liquid then poured a little into his glass. Pushing to his feet, he walked slowly around the bar and picked up a bottle of blue liquor. He sniffed the contents and topped off his drink with a splash of blue.

Kasumi watched him curiously from the couch, legs up on the cushion as she sat back into the corner of the L-shaped sofa. One arm rested on the back of the couch, elbow bent and hand fisted to hold up her head. “Impressive, Shep. Do you plan to go until you pass out? Or just finish the bottle?”

“Whichever comes first,” He lifted the glass to Kasumi in a toast before tilting his head back and pouring its contents down his throat.

“So I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this has something to do with what happened down there at Hock’s place.”

He filled his glass with the blue liquid, stumbled a little but steadied himself. “Perceptive.”

“Alright then,” she swung her legs off the couch and stood, walking to the bar to sit in the stool, facing him. “If you’re pouring, I’ll have one too.”

Chuckling, he picked up a clean glass and his brow lifted in question. She pointed to a pink liquor behind him. Shepard turned to pick up the other bottle, swayed slightly then gave Kasumi half a glass.

She took the offered glass and sipped its contents, savoring the spicy taste on her tongue. “So let’s move down the checklist. I’m a big fan of checklists. What couldn’t it be? I think that’s a smaller menu, don’t you think?” She watched with intuitive eyes as Shepard chugged the blue drink in his hand then leaned backwards against the back counter of the bar. His head ducked, eyes hazed. “Well,” she continued. “It’s probably not destroying my grey box. Or blowing up Hock’s gunship … with Hock on board. Or getting a fancy dinner suit – which, by the way, hardly does you justice.”

Shepard smirked at that and rolled his eyes at Kasumi’s flirtatious grin. “I hate dinner parties.”

“Who doesn’t? So stuffy. Hardly fun. Best behavior, watching your language.” She shrugged casually. “Let’s see, what else is on this list. Hmm, can’t really think of anything else. What do you think, Shep? That a good list for what it’s not?” When he growled and poured himself more blue liquor, she continued. “Then let’s see what it is. Alright, I’m not one to play fair and I rarely pick the obvious. But in this case? I think it’s a fair assumption. So I’m going to say … Miranda.”

Shepard glared though his lids half closed, eyes glazed as he chugged the blue drink. He set down the glass and coughed, leaning forward with hands on the bar as he tried to control himself. His sways deepened but he remained erect.

“I think that’s it. Miranda. Love life not going so well?”

“None of your business,” he snapped.

“Oh but it most definitely is my business when you’re here on my deck drinking my liquor.”

“This isn’t your liquor.”

“Of course it is,” she responded, lightly. “Be serious, Shep, do you really think Cerberus had this place stocked with that liquid fire? Cerberus the organization of ‘work … slave … work … project … whip’. Crack the whip a little harder now. And not in a fun way.”

“I’ll buy the next round,” he grunted and poured more red liquid into his glass.

“So, Miranda and Hock,” Kasumi watched Shepard, observing every reaction. “She pulled through for us, Shep. We got the DNA from that wine glass.”

“And the couch,” he growled.

She shrugged casually. “There wasn’t much there. Not fresh. Not like the wine glass. And the datapad.”

Quiet for nearly a minute, he drained the contents of his glass and placed it back on the table. He hissed then coughed and closed his eyes. Dizzy, his stomach swirled. He slammed his palm onto the counter and forced his eyes open as he snarled. “She fucked Hock.”

Kasumi hissed sympathetically. “Ouch, that must sting. She told you that?”

“Well … no.”

“Oh. You were with me the whole time. Why would you assume she did that?”

Shepard glared. “You were there. She said she was going to.”

“She did?” Kasumi sipped her drink. “I don’t recall that. I recall her saying she would help us get DNA. Which she did, by the way, with the wine glasses.”

He glowered. “I talked to Jacob.”

“Jacob?” her brow arched, curiously. “Never knew he was such a voyeur. So Jacob saw her with Hock? Wow … intense. Wonder if he always likes to just watch.”

“He didn’t watch.” He snapped though his expression clouded in drunken confusion. He ducked his head, elbow planted on the table as his hand held his head up.

“Oh I see. So what you’re saying is that you’re assuming that she and Hock got a little busy. Come on, Shep, you’re better than that. Did you even ask her about it?”

“No. Jacob saw her … ugh.” He pressed his lips together to hold back his burp. “Fuck. Uhm … Jacob … Jacob saw her kiss him.”

“A kiss?” Kasumi smiled and her shoulders slouched slightly as she extended a hand towards Shepard, fingers wiggling. “Oooo, scary. Oh no, a kiss. Because obviously when a girl kisses a man she must immediately sleep with him. So now, we have the main question here. The main question is … do you trust her?”

He glanced up, glaring at the woman across from him with hazy, glassy eyes. “What kind of fuckin’ question is that?” he drawled.

“A simple one really. And the answer is clear.” She jumped to her feet, finishing the drink. “No, you don’t trust her. Which means that if you plan on getting ripped about this assumption with Hock, you may want to just ask her about it.”

“This ain’t about … about trust,” he sliced a hand through the air as he swayed to his side. He closed his eyes and his stomach lurched. “Fuck …” he exhaled slowly, inhaled then exhaled again. “… isn’t about … about trust.” He paused. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Not in here, you’re not,” Kasumi stepped back. “I don’t clean grating. So you better start moving now so you can make it to the toilet.”

“Maybe I uh … I shoulda had more than that … that uh … uhm protein bar … like way before. Uhm … before.” He pushed back from the counter. “Yeah. Ok, I’m good. Just need to walk.” He stumbled around the bar and his brow narrowed in concentration as he glared at the door. Focused and intent on every step, Shepard managed to get to the elevator and kept the contents of his stomach in place on the slow ride to his quarters. He made it to the bathroom just in time.

A few hours later, he woke with a moan, eyes slowly fluttering open. He winced at the bright lights. Laying on his stomach on the bathroom floor, his head facing towards the metallic toilet, he draped his arm over his eyes to block the offending lights.

“Commander,” Joker stated through the communications. “Commander? Helloooooo.”

“What is it, Joker!” he growled, voiced husked and dried. He winced and licked his parched lips, swallowing the nauseating taste in his mouth.

“There you are. Was gettin’ a bit worried. We’ll be in orbit around Haestrom in half an hour.”

“Fine! Thanks.” He snapped and as Joker muttered something into the communications feed, Shepard pressed his hands into the floor and slowly pushed up. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He cursed a few times and finally managed to stagger to his feet.

Leaning heavily against the counter, he brushed his teeth and gargled with the precious fresh water a few times before forcing himself to drink some. Turning from the sink, he wiped around the toilet and floor with a towel then kicked it to a corner before stepping under the shower head, fully dressed. He flicked the water on and closed his eyes, letting the soothing liquid pour over his head and face, soaking his clothes.

Sighing in relief, he slowly peeled the clothes off his body and tossed them aside by the towel. The wet clothes landed with a splat. His boots followed with a thud. He washed himself with the plain soap at the side then lingered under the warm water a few extra minutes. Jerking the last clean towel from the hook behind the door, he dried his hair, half his body and wrapped the towel around his waist, ignoring the water on his legs.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes as he rested a hand against the wall beside the door in a vain attempt to ground the spinning room. Exiting the bathroom, he walked slowly along the side of the desk and winced at the bright lights from the aquarium on the wall. He shielded his eyes and turned to step down the stairs.

“You have a very interesting way of preparing for a ground side mission.”

He stopped at the familiar voice and sighed, closing his eyes and ducking his head. “I’m fine, Miranda.”

“Really? So you usually get yourself absolutely pissed before leading a dangerous rescue mission on a planet with a huge geth presence in an attempt to get one of your ex-crewmates to join our squad.”

“You know, a little less bitchiness would be greatly appreciated.” His lips tweaked in a sarcastic attempt at a charming smile as he turned and sat on the edge of the bed. “Thanks.” With a groan he ducked his head into his hands and sighed.

She arched a brow, surprised. “You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

“Don’t have to be drunk to know when you’re bein’ nagged.” He commented.

“What’s with you?” she asked, confused as she stood and walked towards him, peering down. When he didn’t look up, her confusion fled, replaced by impatience and annoyance. “I don’t suffer foolishness, idiocy, or sloppiness. You’ve earned my trust, Shepard, but there is no way in hell I would go down onto that planet with you in this condition. Now get yourself sober and ready before you even think about taking that shuttle down.”

As she walked away from him he looked up, eyes narrowed on her retreating back. “I wasn’t going to ask you down with me anyway.”

She paused at the door to his quarters and twisted at the waist to look back at him. Her expression guarded though still confused with the hint of masked hurt. Her lips parted as if to speak but she changed her mind and inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Alright, Commander.” Her voice tinged in perfect professionalism as icy walls slowly erected. She left.

Muttering a curse, he pushed to his feet. “Miranda, wait.” He groaned and lifted his hand to his head, closing his eyes. “Stupid … dumbass.” He forced his eyes open and dragged his feet towards his armor. “Think better!” he demanded of himself and punched his fist against the aluminum drawers. Shaking out the pain in his hand, he struggled to get ready for his next mission, forcing his head clear.

+++

Shepard dove behind the fallen column, ducking out of the incoming geth fire. He winced, shifting his weight as his sprained knee trembled. He glanced to either side and peeked over the top to spot his team. Garrus pressed tightly against a crate while Jack ducked low ten meters ahead. Shepard pulled back again and fiddled with the sniper rifle on his back. His head swam, body sore and ached. His mouth dry, he suffered from dehydration.

His back throbbed near the shoulders where two bullet wounds pierced his armor when geth flanked him. He curiously wondered why Miranda didn’t warn him if she saw it approach. The tender point behind his ear burned and he clenched his teeth against the pain.

In her office, Miranda swiped her fingers over the console on her desk, accessing the chip implanted in Shepard via remote and effectively triggered a short, frying the delicate circuit board. Her eyes glanced to the video feed and though she heard and watched the combat, she remained silent even when geth flanked the Commander. She looked away, ignoring his grunts of impact, his pants and his muttered curses. Despite his physical condition, he still maneuvered his team with precision, kept them in safe cover but without regard for himself.

Scratching and metallic scraping resounded through the communication device as he switched the microphone. “Miranda? Can you hear me?”

She turned her attention to the cameras, watching his video feed though she remained quiet.

“Look I … there may be something messing up the communications.” He ducked lower as more bullets grazed over his head. He muttered a few curses then swung his assault rifle up and lay down a stream of suppressive fire to allow his team to move forward. He ducked down again and slammed the heel of his hand against the gun to eject the clip. “It’s hot down here. I … Can you hear me?”

She bit her lip to keep from responding.

He cursed again as his knee twisted and he slumped down, landing hard as he adjusted his position. “I lied. Last night. I am not fucking ok … with you and Hock.”

“Shepard!”

He peered up over the crate and drew his sniper rifle as he watched geth troopers closing in on a pinned down Jack. “Shit … shit.” He smashed his hand along his helmet to switch the com. “Jack. Hang on. Stay low.” He aimed through the fire, ignoring the bullets puncturing his armor. He fired.

Miranda jumped at the unexpected sound, the blasting explosion with the powerful sniper shot. She resisted only a moment longer before reaching for the small earbug and slipping it into her ear. Adjusting the frequency, she activated the device. Though she remained quiet, she focused on him and the mission. After he spoke to Kal’Reeger and convinced the wounded quarian to stay down, she quickly searched the surrounding area, looking for an advantage to take on not only the geth, but the powerful geth Colossus.

“Shepard,” Miranda said, firmly. “Stay low. Keep your team spread thin, draw the fire away. Go to the right for a higher vantage point, left will take you closer quarters – more dangerous but an easier shot.”

There was silence at first and when he spoke, she heard a small smile in his voice. “Hey.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Hey. No distractions now. Be careful.” She sobered as he barked orders, positioning his team in the safest positions then opted for the lower ground, diving behind crates. Miranda offered little else in his ear as he focused. Garrus sniped wandering troopers while Shepard moved slowly forward with assault rifle and shotgun. Only with a constant barrage from his heavy weapon, did the Colossus finally fall. Injured, exhausted but alive, Shepard emerged victorious and entered the previously locked door to find Tali.

As the shuttle docked in the Normandy bay, Shepard sat alone on one of the benches, watching Tali pace impatiently at the shuttle door. “Thank you for coming with me.”

She paused at the door and faced him, piercing white eyes finding his through the helmet. “You better be right about this, Shepard.”

“Trust me, Tali. I know what I’m doing.”

“I believe I’ve heard that before,” she commented dryly.

Garrus grinned. “He says that a lot. Just be prepared to take a rocket to the face during a part of his plan.”

“Hm. Just like old times then.” Tali stated and twisted the handle of the shuttle to open the door and jump out onto the grating of the docking bay.

Miranda stood at the door between the hangar and the rest of the ship. In her honeycombed, white cat suit, she leaned casually into a hip, one side dipped with her arms crossed over her chest. Tall, proud and confident, she lifted her chin as Tali approached. The quarian stopped and turned her head to look at Miranda. Both stared intensely. Dismissive, Tali turned away and exited.

“This’ll be fun,” Jack said with a mischievous grin as she approached Miranda. “Better watch out, Cheerleader. You’re getting out numbered.”

Miranda offered no verbal response as Jack. After Garrus exited the hangar, she waited for Shepard.

Finally, Shepard exited the shuttle and reached up to jerk at the fasteners of his helmet. He lifted the armor off his head and sighed at the freedom. He limped towards the hangar door, his knee throbbing.

Frowning at his limp, Miranda pushed off the wall and entered the hangar. As she neared him, he slowed and searched her expression. She reached out, running slender gentle fingers along his armor, feeling into the scattered bullet holes in search for blood; she found some in one. “You’re limping.”

“I know.”

She slipped her fingers along his side and splayed her palm at the scorched metal where a rocket whizzed too close. “You should see Dr. Chakwas.”

“I will,” he whispered, watching her intensely.

She nodded and her hand abandoned his side to cup his cheek. “Then we’ll talk.”

“Yeah,” he agreed and offered a small smile as she stepped back from him and left the hangar bay.

He washed and changed into his casual attire before visiting Tali. He spent over two hours with her, catching up, asking about her and easing his friend’s concerns about their situation and the ship. At least she seemed pleased with the drive core. If anything won her, it was the engineering of the new Normandy. As he left the engineering bay, his sprained knee seized, swollen from his lack of medical attention.

Limping slowly to the doctor’s quarters, he flashed an apologetic smile. “Guess who?”

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you. Operative Lawson was here hours ago telling me to expect you. It’s good to see you finally decided to visit.”

“I had some things to take care of first.” He winced as he managed to walk towards the nearest bed and turned, pulling himself back up onto the bed to sit. “Just a sprain. Some holes that will heal. You know. The usual.”

Doctor Chakwas simply shook her head and began examining the small wounds on his chest and shoulders. She treated the deeper wounds, applying medi-gel and patching others. She knelt at his feet, helping him pull up a strong supportive fabric knee brace and arranged it properly around the joint. “How’s that?”

“Little stiff. I have a feeling the seams are going to piss me off, but it’s alright.”

“It’s just for a couple days. While it stabilizes.”

“Thanks. I’ll be careful.” He pushed to his feet and tested the brace and his balance. Comfortable with its placement, he pulled down his pant leg and slipped his boot back on before tugging his shirt over his head. Leaving the medical bay with a more controlled limp, he crossed the mess hall for Miranda’s office. Pausing outside, he frowned at the sound of the Illusive Man’s voice.

“What do you mean the chip fried?”

“Just like I said, sir,” Miranda answered. “An explosion probably too close to him. Something with a frequency. Not sure. But the chip is dead.”

“Then replace it.”

“Can’t do that. It’s embedded already and to put another in would be disastrous.”

“Find a way, Miranda. I don’t accept failure.”

“With all due respect, sir, I …” she trailed off and sighed, muttering something.

Teeth clenched, Shepard stormed into the office with blazing and fiery eyes. Miranda turned quickly to the door at his entry, brow raised in surprise. “Shepard?”

“When,” he snarled, accusing and pointed a finger. “When did you put a fucking chip in my head?”

She opened her mouth to respond but bit back her retort and simply searched his eyes, confident yet oddly beseeching.

Blinded by his hurt and anger, he pressed his hands onto her desk, leaning forward to glare at her. “What? I asked you a question, Lawson. When did you put the chip in my head?” At her continued silence, he shook his head and stepped back. “You know what? Nevermind!” he snapped. “I can’t trust you. You fuck Hock. You put a chip in my head …” His teeth clenched, and he turned, leaving with a slight limp.

She muttered a curse after he left and leaned over her console, drawing agile fingers over its controls. She quickly redirected part of the power and overloaded the circuits throughout Shepard’s chambers, cutting power to the lighting and, she hoped, disabling any cameras or microphones. She thought she knew of every bug and camera on board the Normandy, at least until Mordin handed her two cameras on top of the number of which she was aware.

Shepard stomped into his chambers, ignoring the increased throbbing in his leg as he eased down the stairs. The lights flickered in his room then turned off. He paused and looked towards the ceiling. “Really? So this is what we’re doing now?” The lights returned, lower than usual as the power slowly reverted.

The door to his quarters opened and Miranda stepped inside, expression determined and emotion masked. Her eyes narrowed at his threatening glare. “We have five minutes, so listen up because I will not be repeating myself.”

“Woah woah, you do not come in here and put that kind of ultimatum out there. What the hell are you talking about?”

Her eyes narrowed. “There are bugs on this ship that I don’t know about. So we have five minutes until EDI can restore the power to the grid in your room. Now listen very closely.” She stepped to him, shoulders squared and posture confident. “I did what I had to do to keep you safe and make sure I stayed on this mission.”

“Bullshit.”

She matched his dangerous and brooding glare with one of her own. “If I didn’t do what I did, I would not be on this ship. I would have been replaced with someone who would have had no reservations about putting a control chip in your head. And they wouldn’t have done what I did and had the intended chip duplicated. What I put in you is nothing more than a tracking device. One that I short circuited while you were ground side before the Illusive Man tried to activate what he thought would be a control chip.”

He laughed, incredulous. “What? That’s supposed to make it better? Miranda,” he pointed to his head. “You put a fucking chip in my head!”

“A chip that was nothing more than a tracker. The alternative was one that would control your mind. Would you have preferred that?”

“That is not the point,” he growled. “When did you do it, huh? That why you warmed up to me? Slept with me?”

Blinking slowly, defensive walls slowly erecting, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that what you really think?”

Anger burned within him though it dissipated slowly, replaced with betrayal and hurt. He sighed, walking away from her to sit on the couch at the far end. “I don’t know what to believe. I thought I could trust you.”

“You can!” She followed him and sat near – not beside him. “I did this to … I was protecting you.”

He scoffed, shaking his head with a forced smile. “You have a funny way of showing that.”

“Don’t you understand? He wanted to ensure you would do exactly what he wanted when he wanted. He wasn’t convinced you were totally on his side. On … on our side.” She frowned. “Cerberus’s side.”

“Our side?” He glanced to her. “If this is Cerberus’s side, what else have you put in me?” his eyes narrowed in accusation.

“Nothing,” she whispered and ducked her head, eyes downcast. “I had to think fast. I had no intention of being reassigned. We need you intact. I don’t know what he’s thinking, what he wants. But after all the hell he put me through to keep me from putting a chip in your head at the beginning, I am not letting him renege on that now. There’s too much at stake, and you’ve proven yourself more than capable.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

She looked up at his whispered question, confused and searched his open expression. “What?”

He shrugged, motioning to her with a slight hand gesture. “Why didn’t you just ask me? Come to me, tell me what was happening. Whisper in my ear … talk to me when we were planet side. Tell me what you wanted to do.” He sighed and looked away to the aquarium across the room. “I would have let you.”

“Shepard …” she whispered.

“But you go behind my back. You just … I’m not an experiment anymore. I’m not some lab monkey you can tweak and bend, bug and pinch to do what you think is right. So when did you do it? When you kissed me? Where is it?” He pushed to his feet and walked up the stairs, cutting quickly to the left to enter the bathroom. He squinted, leaning close to the mirror as his eyes slowly scanned his features: first his brow, along his eyes then nose. He opened his mouth and lifted his tongue.

Lights dim and low, he leaned closer to try to see, but any details faded into the darkness with the battery-powered, low emergency lighting. Clicking heels announced her arrival in the bathroom, rhythmic and haunting. She stood by the door entrance within feet of him, watching. Finally she reached out; he flinched from her touch, offering an angry glare. She hesitated a moment, holding his eyes with coolness. Taking a step towards him, her fingers slid along the back of his ear, stroking the point where she planted the bug. “Right here.”

His eyes closed at her touch, a mixture of pleasure and pain at the intimate gesture. When he opened his eyes, they were cool, chilled and fierce. “Take it out.”

“I can’t.”

Facing her, he snarled. “Can’t or won’t.”

“Both!” she responded with conviction. “If I try to extract it, there is an eighty five percent chance that I will sever important nerves. And if by some miracle I did extract it, I would be ordered to put in another. At least with one in place …” She cut off her words as the lights brightened.

“Power restored,” EDI announced. “Is everything alright, Commander?”

“Just fine,” he answered though his eyes held Miranda’s. “Thank you, EDI.”

She took a step back, arms crossed as she leaned back into her hip. Chin high, she waited, challenging though her gaze gave way her uncertainty.

He paused, both gathering his thoughts and wanting to make her squirm. Finally, he responded. “I need to be able to trust you. How can I do that?” Sighing, he shook his head. He pushed away from the counter. “I thought I’d be ok. But I’m just not. I get that it was all professional and you did what you felt you needed to do to give me time. But you slept with Hock! How could you just … do that?”

She frowned. “I didn’t sleep with Hock.”

“What?”

“You only needed fifteen minutes at most. Plus the half hour or so prior to get the DNA on his wineglasses like you asked.”

Doubt weighted on him, uncertain what to believe. He refused to back down. “You were going to seduce him. You kissed him.”

“And I kept him distracted with that kiss so he didn’t send all his guards to the vault when one of you triggered something suspicious on a camera.” She answered with a toss of her head.

Sighing, he ducked his head and closed his eyes. “Miranda,” defeated, tired and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to fight. I can’t. I just … I told you I was ok and I’m not. I just need to know. I need to know what you did with him.” He struggled to lift his head to look at her again.

“We talked business over wine,” she answered professionally. “Then when I knew I needed to buy you more time, yes, I kissed him, and we went back to his room.” She leaned towards him, hands on the counter. Close to him, her voice lowered. “Donovan Hock is an … was an easy man to manipulate. All he cared about was prestige, money and sex in that order. We had a little more wine, I offered to massage his back and then asked him about his antique weapon collection. Stroked his ego. And before you ask – No, I had no intention of killing him to make your job easier. He was a valuable contact and I wasn’t going to lose that if I didn’t have to. I’m an operative, not an assassin.” She paused a moment before inquiring. “If you didn’t trust me … why did you stay with me last night? Why didn’t you just tell me? Ask me?”

He hesitated in his answer, averting his eyes to stare at himself in the mirror.

“You know what … nevermind.”

When she pushed off the counter, he forced the answer. “I wanted to … just make sure you were …”

“I was what?”

“You were mine!” He snapped and pushed off the counter as well, raking a hand over his short hair in frustration. “I wanted you to … to make sure you knew me and I just had this … urge to … claim …” At her infuriating arched brow, he stepped back slightly.

“How ridiculously … bloody prehistoric of you!” she exclaimed and without a glance behind her, she left him in the bathroom.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he snapped and followed her. When she stopped, he pointed an accusatory finger at her back. “I don’t know why I lied to you last night. Maybe because I wanted you to think that I could play on your terms. And for the most part, I can. But not on these terms. I don’t share.”

She spun to face him. “Neither do I. So make sure you inform that little quarian in the engine room before she starts following you around like an abandoned pet.” She closed her eyes, releasing some of her frustration in a slow exhalation as she gently brushed her fingertips over her strained brow. “Shepard … look, I don’t know … we have so much to do. And we will be going after that Reaper tech to prepare us for the jump. We can’t afford to be distracted.” She dropped her hand and met his eyes. “Maybe it’s best if we just try to focus on that.”

His eyes narrowed. “No!” he closed the distance between them. “I’m not letting you run away from this. I asked you if this is what you want and you said it is. You’re not backing out because it gets hard.” He boldly cupped her cheek in his palm. “If I’m expected to throw myself to the Collectors and sacrifice myself for humanity and the galaxy …” he trailed off before whispering. “Maybe it makes me selfish to want something to come back for.”

“I’m not good at this, Shepard,” she admitted softly.

“Me neither,” he answered with a small smile and ducked his head slightly to press his forehead to hers. He sighed, closing his eyes to savor. “Stay with me tonight.”

She swallowed hard, resting a hand on his chest then sliding it up to his shoulder. “We’re going to be on Illium in two hours.”

He growled in frustration and eased back from her. He smiled sadly and shook his head. “Will it ever end? Or will I have to be dead?”

She returned his smile though shallow and forced. “Even if it does end and we get out, what …”

He silenced her with a tender soft kiss. “We’ll figure it out then. Let’s get there first.”

Submitting to him, she stepped into him and slipped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Her eyes closed as she sighed, relaxing into him.

“If it came down to it with Hock, could have you …” he trailed off unable to finish the question.

Quiet a long moment, she finally answered. “I never doubted my ability to do whatever I had to do before. But I really don’t know. You never know what you’re willing to do until the moment is presented. Have you never made a call where if you thought of it prior, you never would have chosen the option?”

“You know I have.”

“Same thing.” She eased back slightly to search his eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I like the idea of some slimy smuggler admiring you like that or touching you. I’m glad I killed him.” He admitted. “We’re both a little burned right now. But there is nobody else I would rather have beside me on a battlefield or in my bed.” His arms tightened and he whispered in her ear. “We don’t have the time to waste, being angry or fighting. Like I said, it still stings but don’t run.” Smiling, he pressed a kiss to her throat. “You drive me absolutely crazy sometimes.”

She released him, stepping back. “The feeling is mutual.”

“I should have trusted you. I just … my jealousy got a hold of me. I’m sorry.”

Her defensive icy walls melted at the apology and she ducked her head with a small smile. “I’m sorry too, for making you jealous. I should have just told you what I was going to do. I want you to trust me, Shepard. I’m not good at this but I know we are supposed to trust each other.”

“I know. Come down to Illium with me?” His hand lingered on her side. “I know you like your time. Go on and get ready. I’ll meet you at the airlock when we dock.”

She smiled at his display of trust and agreed.


	19. Chapter 19

Miranda slowly walked around Liara’s apartment on Illium, heels clicking rhythmically with her steady pace. Eyes searched and scanned the various decorations and Prothean artifacts before resting on a battered and broken piece of N7 armor. Propped carefully and reverently displayed behind a glass case, light shone upon the breastplate revealing the burned and missing pieces. She circled the display, standing behind the case. Squinting, she leaned closer, peering curiously at the underside of the armor.

Cleaned, buffed and carefully treated, the armor showed no signs of its previous conditions.

_Flashback_

Miranda left the asari, Liara, standing near the shuttle bay of the state-of-the-art Cerberus facility. She weaved through the corridors, side stepping personnel and crates on her route to the depth of the facility where Commander Shepard’s body rested. A scientist jogged towards her and spun on his heel to match her stride for stride as he handed her a datapad. “Preliminary scans are inconclusive. We’re running deeper scans now for a fuller understanding before we open it.”

“What did you find exactly? I don’t like inconclusive.”

“Well, the Commander is severely degraded, as you are aware,” the scientist explained, quickening his step as she turned a corner to keep up. “But how degraded, it is hard to tell. We don’t want to open the coffin until we are exactly sure what we are working with. There can be no delay once his body hits the air or we risk rapid degeneration.”

“Is the stasis tank ready?”

“Yes, Ma’am. The pressure will be stabilized within the hour. Oxygen, nitrogen and C – O – 2 levels are well under control. Once the scans are completed, we will wait on your ‘Go’ to open the coffin.”

Miranda nodded. “Excellent. Once he is removed from the coffin, you will have to oversee the removal of non-biological materials. Keep as much of him in tact as possible. We cannot afford any waste.”

“We will move swiftly.” The scientist affirmed. “It may be … well quite difficult to remove any armor and clothing from his body depending on the degree of decomposition.”

“There is no other option. Only his biological material can be inside the stasis tank to ensure proper synthesis with cybernetics and technology. Any other material risks contamination.”

“I understand,” he nodded in agreement. “Even the slightest bit of shirt or sock can change reconstructions.”

“There are already enough variables without throwing more wrenches into this project. Failure is not an option, especially if that failure is facilitated by careless mistakes.”

“Ma’am,” he interrupted nervously. “What if there is not enough undamaged genetic material. His brain must be perfectly intact in order to keep his personality and memories in place. And this is all theoretical. There are so many variables.”

“I am aware of the complications and delicacy of this operation,” she stated with professional confidence. “This is my project. And all of our careers are on the line. I’m sure you understand the seriousness of that statement.”

“I do, Ma’am. We all do. I just do not want to be too positive about our odds of success. Especially considering these readings.” He motioned to the datapad with his hand.

“Then we will adjust.” She stepped through the security sealed door into a small square preparation room. She turned from the scientist as she tied her hair back with a black tie, wrapping it to the top of her head. Tucking hair into a sterilized surgical cap, she pulled on a white lab coat, buttoned it and then picked up one of the surgical masks, tucking the elastic loops behind her ears. Affixing a pair of clear goggles over her eyes, she finally pulled on the sterilized operating gloves.

The scientist worked quickly, readying himself for the entry into the sterile operational chamber. He followed Miranda through the next set of doors. The heavy doors sealed shut; a VI announced, “Please stand still. Decontamination in progress.” A fan of blue light scanned the room, beginning at the top and then slowly descended to the floor before the wave pivoted and swirled ninety degrees, repeating the process. Decontamination continued for thirty seconds and once clear, the doors opened to the operation room.

Stepping into the room, Miranda confidently strode towards the far wall covered in six monitors. “Report.”

The scurrying scientists quickened their pace at her entry. One responded, her voice professional and focused. “Five minutes until the deep scans are completed. The stasis chamber is ready for transport.”

Miranda crossed her arms, leaning into a hip as she stared at the monitors. “I want to see inside the coffin. See what we’re working with. Bring it up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The female scientist answered and tapped some buttons on the console. Three of the monitors flickered before a new image appeared on each. The first display: A top-side view of the contents within the coffin, showing the chest, shoulders and head of the subject inside. Blackened, dented and broken N7 armor on the chest and shoulders. No helmet. The flesh severely decomposed, eyes sunken and jaw slackened, open. Cheeks and face mostly gone, replaced instead with pieces of muscle and bone. One cheek crushed.

The second monitor: a side view near the hip showing only full armor. The third display: a bottom view from the bottom of the feet focusing up the body – more armor. “Damn it,” Miranda paced, eyes on the monitors. “Looks like he’s in armor; I was hoping for dress blues. This complicates things. No sign of a helmet though. What’s that at his right hand?”

“Not sure, but we think it may be a gun. It appears he’s gripping it.”

“The hand isn’t important; cut it off if you have to. It’s the torso and head we need intact. No hasty decisions though. We need as much of him in that chamber as possible. Only sever if it is the last resort. How long will we have for the transfer?”

“The room is sterile, but we must make the full transfer within four hours to ensure no further decomposition occurs.”

Wilson left the stasis chamber and approached Miranda. “We’re all ready in the chamber. I suggest moving him from the coffin to the table and from the table, removing all armor and materials before making the full transfer to the chamber.”

“Agreed,” Miranda turned towards the scientists and watched, waiting patiently as they continued their scans. When the time came to open the coffin, she stood at the head and assisted. The coffin opened, a wave of decomposed stench slammed into them and she closed her eyes, turning her head away as she held her breath, keeping the contents in her stomach. “Move fast. Now.” She commanded and shook away the disgust as she looked back at the body. Her eyes scanned every inch, taking in the full armor – a frustrating obstacle.

“Lift him!” The lead female scientist called out. “He’ll be easy to move in the full armor. Support his head. Get a grip. Ready?”

Miranda slipped her hands under neck and head of the body, fingers sinking slightly into the soft and decomposed flesh. The rancid stench infused into all who touched. “On my mark. Get his shoulders. Ready? One … Two … Lift!” She carefully stabilized the neck and head, holding steady. All moved at the same time, lifting the Commander’s corpse out of the coffin and moving it to the metallic operating table.

Miranda and the scientists moved quickly, agile fingers carefully unfastening, knives cutting free the materials holding the armor in place. Straps released and fastens unhooked, Miranda carefully removed the pauldrons. The act met with little resistance as the piece settled over the full breastplate. Finally after endless careful minutes, a boot slipped off with a sickening suction pop.

The stench magnified at the release and Miranda bit back her gag reflex. The sour unmistakable smell of rotted flesh exploded. One scientist turned and rushed from the table, leaning over the sink as he quickly pulled up his mask and emptied the contents of his stomach. Miranda ignored the distinctive sound of retching, refusing to let her reflexes react.

Carefully, a glove followed with another sickening pop. Managing calm control, she fiddled with the ties, cutting the clasps and straps of his breastplate near the neck. Another boot popped off, breaking the foot bones, though still leaving the pieces attached by sporadically intact ligaments and musculature.

The team worked quickly and efficiently, stripping off the armor pieces and tossing the metallic armor aside. Miranda pointed to the pile of armor. “Get all of the tissues off of that. We never know what we’ll need in the end.”

Four technicians lifted and maneuvered the stripped armor pieces, using sharpened metallic instruments to scrape and slice any biological remnants from the inside of the plating. A mess of reddened and black, bloodied debris amassed at the end of the table, decomposed, and rotted flesh slowly stripped from the armor.

Miranda turned away from the sight, eyes closing a moment as she exhaled slowly through her nose, controlled and calming. Removing the greaves proved difficult as each piece required a delicate hand to cut and peel away. After half an hour, only the breast plate remained. His bones miraculously mostly intact on all appendages, she examined the corpse as the breastplate lifted off. She supported his head as others lifted his shoulders to remove the back of the breast piece and then carefully lay him down.

Scissors distributed, she stepped back as two of the scientists carefully cut away the fabric of his clothes, peeling it in layers from the corpse. Gelatin and liquid-like, flesh clung to each piece of fabric. She watched almost entranced at the sight before averting her eyes and focusing instead on his face and head. Nose and features deteriorated, rotting away – skin black, grey and green with decomposition.

With firm fingers, she pressed on the cheek, using thumb and forefinger at his brow and cheek. As she separated her digits to look into his eyes, blackness stared back – no eyes. The lead female scientist observed as well. “Preliminary deep tissue evaluation, the following organs will need to be grown: Eyes, kidney, thyroid, liver, heart and prostate. Get him into the stasis chamber. Prepare to begin skeletal stabilization. Mason, get me a CT scan of his brain, what’s left of it. Klein, I want a full DNA map.”

As the technicians gathered the stripped and cleaned gloves and boots, Miranda turned to them. “Keep it all.” She approached and picked up one of the gloves, peering inside and stroking a finger along the inside of the palm area. “Reassemble the armor. I want a detailed mold of the inside of every piece.” She tossed the glove onto the pile of armor and without another word walked towards the exit.

She pulled the tight latex gloves from her hand, nose scrunched in disgust at the discolored flesh clinging to the thin barrier. She tossed it into the medical waste container. Behind her, one technician whispered. “Why does she want a mold?”

Another softly answered. “Probably size. To see exactly how big he was. Most armor like this is tight to the skin, fitted specifically for him.”

Miranda carefully pulled off the other glove as well and sighed in disgust at the lingering smell. It would take days to remove the smell from her body and a lifetime to forget the distinct pungent odor.

_End Flashback_

Closing her eyes, Miranda looked away from the displayed N7 armor in Liara’s apartment, the sudden unmistakable smell returning from memory though no decay lingered in the room. She stepped away from the display case, walking towards the nearby window and stared up absently at the bullet hole piercing the glass. She glanced back over her shoulder as Shepard commented on his N7 armor but held back any response.

Her eyes sought his face but she quickly looked away, shaking the vivid vision of his decomposing features from her mind – a vision that sometimes haunted her, one she would never forget.

+++

Miranda gripped the hilt of her pistol, aiming steady at the asari Spectre. Her eyes glanced momentarily to the side at Shepard and Liara before returning her focus to the target. Finger on the trigger, she waited – tensions simmered. She stepped forward as the asari retreated towards the balcony at her back. Boots cracked on shattered glass. She resisted the urge to fire as Shepard sprung towards the asari and both tumbled over the side of the balcony.

Miranda and Tali raced towards the balcony edge and peered over. Shepard fell the multiple stories to the floor at the center presidium of the scorched and partially destroyed building. Liara leapt over the balcony, her biotics flaring to help her descend safely. The asari tangled with Shepard blazed with biotics as well, slowing their fall. Miranda and Tali turned from the balcony and raced down the stairs.

Panting softly, Miranda followed Tali down the few flights of stairs, dodging corpses and discarded guns. She trailed behind the quarian, unable to keep up in her heeled boots. When Tali pressed against the edge of the door, Miranda quickly took the position opposite and peered into the main rotunda. Liara, after landing gracefully, ignored Shepard and instead chased the escaping asari.

Tali dropped to a knee near Shepard’s head, reaching out with a tentative hand to touch his shoulder. Miranda aimed down the sights of her pistol, leading the asari, but she held her shot, muttering a curse. She holstered her weapon and knelt at Shepard’s side, reaching out to touch his chest gently with her hand. Eyes examined and scanned his mouth and she tilted her head slightly to better see his eyes through the dark tinted plastic visor. Tali called his name; groaning, he stirred. Both squad members reacted instantly, supporting him as he struggled to move. Armored footfall warned of the approaching commandos and Tali struggled to rouse the woozy and breathless commander. Miranda drew her weapon and ducked into cover, ready to lay down any cover fire should her two teammates need.

The three fought with precision, ferocity and swiftness. Enemies fell; Shepard pushed his team hard, intent on reaching Liara and the escaping asari Spectre. Once outside, they watched their target drive away. When Liara slipped into the passenger side of the nearest car, Shepard turned to Tali and motioned to the car with his head. Tali quickly jumped into the backseat. Glancing to Miranda, he held her eyes a moment and at her nod of understanding, entered the driver’s seat and pulled closed the door.

Chafed, but not burned by his choice, Miranda turned from the departing vehicle and scanned the surroundings. Civilians huddled near walls and balconies, injured or terrified. Wailing sirens in the distance announced the pending arrival of law enforcement and emergency services. She helped two women stand and pulled an injured man from the unstable building’s entrance before taking her leave from the area minutes before police arrived.

Miranda returned to the Normandy and silently entered her office. Without delay, she settled into the chair at her desk and constructed her report on the current situation, including any observances regarding Liara and newly learned information regarding the Shadow Broker. Submitting the report, she leaned back in the chair, fingers tapping rhythmically on the arm of her chair. Seizing the opportunity, she moved her chair closer and quickly swiped her fingers over the console.

In his quarters, Shepard tossed the datapad in his hands onto the small table in front of the couch and paced away towards his desk to pick up his old N7 helmet. Lost in memory, his focus blurred as fresh and distant past thoughts flooded his mind. Closing his eyes, he broke the chain and set the helmet down. Glancing to his side, he watched Liara work diligently, scanning and searching various datapads. “We’ll get him back,” he stated intensely. “I promise.”

“You cannot make that promise, Shepard,” Liara responded simply, voice edged with coolness. “We have no idea what we are walking into much less what his condition would be. By the goddess, it’s been two years.” Her fingers stilled on the datapad and she leaned back in reflection before finally looking up at Shepard. “It would be more merciful if he was dead.”

“Maybe,” he returned to the couch and sat beside the asari. “What happened?”

“Cerberus has reports. Ask the perfect Miss. Lawson.”

Smirking at the dismissive shot, he leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. “I’m asking you. Plus, she didn’t tell me much. And if there are reports on it, I can’t access them.”

After a moment of silence, Liara set the datapad onto the table and looked at Shepard, mimicking his position. “Cerberus approached me to recover your body and Feron helped me. Details aren’t really important. What’s important is that the Shadow Broker has him and after he helped me, I cannot leave him there. He doesn’t deserve that fate.”

“No, he doesn’t. You sound like you were close.”

“Friends, nothing more.” Liara clarified. “He sacrificed himself so that I could get away. With you. What would you do if you knew Kaiden wasn’t dead, but instead imprisoned?”

“I’d go after him,” he answered without hesitation. “You know that.” At her silent nod, he continued. “Why would you send my body to Cerberus? After everything we saw?”

“Why are you working for them now after everything we saw? I must admit, I was a little shocked when I saw the emblem on your armor. Of course, that was after I got over the shock of seeing you walking into my office. Granted, I had heard the rumors but it is quite different to see it.”

“It was good to see you too.”

She offered a small smile at his words and looked forward to watch the brightly lit aquarium. “But to answer your question, why would I give you to Cerberus? The alternative was to let the collectors have you. I couldn’t let that happen.” She sighed. “I couldn’t let you go, Shepard. After everything you had done for me, for the galaxy and when Cerberus approached me with this insane idea, I thought ‘what if they could.’ What if they could bring you back? After you were gone, everything fell apart. The Reapers were still coming and your death meant nothing. Nothing changed.”

“So you thought that if Cerberus brought me back, then I could pick up where I left off.”

“It wasn’t all business,” Liara defended. “We share something … special. You said it, remember?”

“I do. I still mean it. How could we not?” he shrugged casually. “You’ve been inside my head a couple of times. That’s an intimacy most people can’t share.”

Liara turned to face him, observing silently a few seconds. “I can’t believe they actually did it. They brought you back.”

“Yeah, they did,” he responded, softly. “They did a pretty good job too. Thank you, Liara. For not giving up on me. For giving me this chance. You sacrificed a lot; so did Feron. It’s why we’re going to get him back.”

“Commander Shepard,” EDI interrupted. “Someone is attempting to hack into your personal information storage terminal.”

He frowned and stood. “What? Who?” Leaving Liara’s side, he walked around the table and up the few stairs towards his private terminal.

“They are blocking my attempts to back hack them, rerouting from their point of origin to random ports throughout the ship. I am, however, successfully keeping them from your data.”

“Is it originating from the Normandy?” he asked, sitting in his chair and opening his private terminal. “Can you show me what they’re doing?”

“One moment, Commander.” EDI stated; Shepard glanced behind him as Liara peered over his shoulder at the terminal.

Liara rested a hand on the desk, the other on the back of Shepard’s chair. “Who would try to hack your terminal on board this ship? I thought your crew was loyal to you.”

“They are.” His eyes narrowed at the terminal.

“What is on this terminal that they would want?”

“Just personal emails,” he responded with a sigh. “Nothing really of importance except …”he trailed off.

“Commander, the point of origin for the hacking attempt is Operative Lawson’s office.” EDI stated.

“You were installed by Cerberus. Why would you stop a Cerberus operative from accessing any information?” Liara inquired, curiously.

“It is in my programming to deflect and prevent all hacking attempts penetrating encrypted channels. The only information currently stored on encrypted channels is the recently acquired data rescued from a compromised Cerberus facility. My current decryption of all files is paused.”

Shepard leaned back in the chair, absently brushing his fingers over his lips in thought as he stared at the screen of his terminal. After a moment of silence, he spoke, flatly. “EDI, let her through.”

Curious to his motives, Liara glanced inquisitively towards the commander but bit back any question.

“If you intend to entrap her, I will need a moment to design a program to keep her locked in channels.”

“I don’t intend to entrap her,” Shepard answered. “Let her in. I want to see what she does. Show it to me.” His screen flickered before displaying a constant streaming wall of text. The commander scanned the lines as they scrolled and muttered. “I’m a soldier. Do you know what any of it means?”

“Give yourself more credit,” Liara scolded. “You’ve done more hacking than I have.” She leaned forward, eyes quickly darting back and forth as she skimmed and read the scrolling text. “It appears your A.I. has still put up firewalls but it is not replacing them or trying to divert.”

Growling his frustration, fist clenched in anger at the betrayal, he slammed his fist onto the desk. “EDI, show me Miranda’s office.” He ground his teeth, muscles taut on the back of his neck as the scrolling text minimized replaced with the display from one of the cameras in Miranda’s office.

Liara frowned. “The room is empty, Shepard.”

Frustration and anger switched to confusion. “EDI, where is Miranda Lawson?”

“Operative Lawson is in the hangar.”

He cursed and burst to his feet. “EDI, stop them. Don’t let them get any further.” Shepard raced from his quarters with Liara following quickly on his heels. Within minutes he burst into Miranda’s office; the room was empty.

Liara slipped into the chair, fingers moving agilely over the console in Lawson’s chamber as she cleared the screen. “It’s automated. I can’t control it from this terminal.” She swiped her fingers over the console again, attempting to close out the program. “It’s a remote access program.”

“EDI, what can you tell me about this program?” Shepard asked.

“All terminals on board Cerberus vessels have client programs installed to allow remote access and control of the terminal at any time. Operative terminals are also installed with hacking programs. It appears the remote access for this terminal has been initiated to run the program.”

“Can you shut it down?” Shepard inquired. “Stop the remote access.”

“Yes, Commander, I can.”

“Do it,” Shepard commanded and watched the terminal. When nothing happened, he questioned. “EDI?” At the silence, he straightened. “EDI? Stop the remote access. It is hacking your system; we cannot trust its source and as commanding officer of this ship, I must protect the Normandy and ensure all her resources remain intact. That means all crew personnel files, any information we collect and your programming. We don’t know who is trying to hack our systems, even though they are using Cerberus protocols.”

“You are right, Commander,” EDI agreed. “It is best to ere on the side of caution.” Within five seconds, the hacking program terminated.

Relieved, Shepard stepped away from Miranda’s desk. “Thank you, EDI. The Normandy is an advanced warship with prototype upgrades and an integrated Artificial Intelligence. We cannot risk any security breaches, even from within Cerberus. Block any remote access attempts to our systems unless I approve it, personally. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Commander.”

+++

Miranda sat atop one of the many crates in the hangar, legs dangling and swaying with natural movement over the side. A datapad in hand, she tapped her fingers quickly over the keys. Connecting to the extranet, she hesitated only a moment before opening her email client.

_Miri,_

_I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said, and I know that you know that. And the conversation shouldn’t have ended like it did. We’re just so much alike – we have to be. We’re twins. But it’s not fair. I understand that you wanted to protect me and you thought by staying invisible, it would be best. You were wrong. Everything that I thought about myself was a lie. Where I came from or who I am? I have no idea now. I suppose this is what orphans feel like. A piece of identity is stripped away leaving a void, an endless void that cannot be filled because there are too many questions, too many holes._

_Are you really my sister? It’s only with blind trust that I believe you. I have so many questions and no answers. Where are you? I know you are in danger and maybe it’s selfish of me to ask for more of your time. I liked when we chatted, even if it’s just through a chat client. Hey, it’s better than nothing, don’t you think? I’m sure you’re keeping tabs on me, probably my every move. What movie did I see last weekend?_

_Please, sign in again sometime. There’s so much I want to ask you, so much I want to know._

_Ori_

Lowering the datapad, Miranda stared blankly across the bay in silent reflection. Decision made, she returned her attention to the datapad and logged into an external chat client. She waited.

OL: Miri! You signed in!

ML: I got your email. We’ve been busy lately, but I haven’t forgotten.

OL: I’m so sorry.

ML: Don’t be sorry. You’re right. I don’t mean to spy on you. It’s not even spying, not really.

OL: Then what is it?

ML: I have enemies and I just want to make sure you’re safe. Especially after everything that happened.

OL: What kind of enemies?

ML: Don’t worry. I can protect you, even from here.

OL: Sorry, Miri, but that’s not going to cut it. I’m just as smart as you, remember. Just tell me so I know what to look out for. I can tell you if I notice anything suspicious.

ML: It’s complicated. I know what to look for.

OL: You’re doing it again! If you were me, how would you feel?

ML: It’s not the same thing. We may be the same genetically but the environment in which we were raised was entirely different.

OL: That’s a cop out and you know it.

ML: Fine, never make it look like you are entirely aware of everything around you. It means anyone following or watching you is more likely to make it look as if they are. When you notice them watching you, never call them out on it. Tell me immediately, every detail.

OL: There, was that so hard?

ML: Yes. I don’t want you in danger. You’re finally safe, for the moment. I would like it to stay that way.

OL: Then I think I need to know what is going on. Who am I?

<pause>

OL: Miranda?

ML: It’s a long story.

OL: I have time.

ML: But I don’t. I’m sorry, Ori. We are very busy right now.

OL: Five minutes. Just give me the abridged version then.

ML: Alright. Our father is Henry Lawson. He’s a very dangerous man and you have to stay away from him. No matter what people say of his wealth and influence.

OL: He wanted me kidnapped?

ML: He would call it rescued. From me. He was obsessed with creating a legacy, a dynasty. So much so that he genetically engineered our DNA in a lab. He grew us to be perfect. I was first and when I proved to be too difficult to control, when I wanted away from him, I ran away. Cerberus offered me protection. Little did I know, he started creating you. Genetically, we are identical.

OL: …

ML: I know what this sounds like. When I heard he was trying to create another perfect specimen, I couldn’t let him do to you what he had done to me and I rescued you when you were still a baby. I got you away from him and I have been protecting you ever since.

OL: This is all a little bit outrageous, don’t you think?

ML: I know it seems like a lot to take in. If you doubt me, run a DNA test on yourself. The results will speak for themselves.

OL: Maybe I’ll do that.

ML: You probably have a lot of questions but I don’t have much time. There is a lot to do and we are getting closer to our destination.

OL: Where are you?

ML: You know I can’t tell you that.

OL: Figure I’d still give it a shot. I still have so many questions. How did you grow up? What did Father do to you that you wanted to rescue me? How did you pick my parents to be my parents?

ML: When this is all over and I come back, I will find you and we can talk all you want.

OL: Do you promise?

ML: I can’t do that.

OL: You could just lie, you know. Might make it easier for me to sleep at night.

ML: You’ve been lied to enough. Where I’m going is very dangerous. But if we managed to do this and come back, I promise that I will come see you.

OL: I’ll hold you to that. Bye, Miri.

ML: Goodbye, Ori.

Miranda’s eyes lingered on the chat window on the datapad before finally closing the client. Distant in thought, she stared blankly at the cleared datapad and sighed. Gathering her emotions, she closed her eyes as she mentally sorted through and filed each feeling, each thought.

“Miranda?”

Cooling blue aura pulsed around her in her meditation, cycling in spirals from her head to waist then circling down her legs and up again. She regained her focus at the call of her name and though the aura remained intense, her head turned slightly to look around the hangar from her position. Shepard stood across the bay, brow narrowed as he skimmed the surrounding crates. Uncrossing her legs, she picked up the datapad and leapt to the floor, her biotics flared to cushion her landing.

Heeled boots clicked against the metal grating of the hangar bay’s floor and Shepard turned at the sound. He crossed the bay and paused when she stepped into view, aura present but fading. “What are you doing here?” He inquired, curiously.

She presented the datapad. “Some personal correspondence. Change of scenery. Do you need something, Commander? I thought you would be with T’Soni.”

“I was but something came up. I have a few questions for you actually. About the terminals on board the ship. Are they all the same?”

“What do you mean the same?”

“Are they dummy terminals with equal access to a single server or are they individual systems that have a program to link with other systems?”

Skeptically, she responded. “There are a variety of terminals on the ship. Some are simply dummy terminals with only one or two functions. Others are fully functional terminals. Why?”

“What can you do with that datapad? Can you remote access terminals?”

“Of course. Not every terminal, only the ones linked to it. Like my own.” She stepped back from him, leaning into her hip as she searched his expression. “Why? What happened?”

“Did you remote access your terminal?”

“No,” she answered and crossed her arms. “I was talking to Oriana. Now will you just accuse me of whatever it is you’re thinking so I can defend myself properly.”

“I’m not accusing you,” he closed his eyes and pressed the fingertips of one hand into his brow. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.” Dropping his hand, he met her steely gaze. “EDI detected someone trying to hack into my personal terminal and we saw it was coming from your office. Your terminal. But you weren’t there. It looked like someone was remote accessing your terminal. Who would do that?”

“I don’t know,” she frowned, eyes narrowed in thought. “Was it from somewhere else on this ship or external?”

“External, we think. I don’t know. This isn’t my expertise. I break terminals, not dissect them.”

“Commander,” Joker announced over the intercom. “We’ll be in orbit in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Joker,” Shepard answered then stepped closer to Miranda, slipping a hand along her waist. “Figure this out. If somebody has the balls to use your terminal when you’re only a deck away, who knows what else they’ve been doing.”

“I’ll find them.” Tentatively, she reached up, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful. The shadow broker isn’t known for welcoming visitors.”

He nodded in agreement, squeezed her waist and left the hangar. Determined and with restrained anger, Miranda returned to her office.

+++

Shepard sat on his bed watching the closed door of his quarters minutes after Liara left. They defeated the Shadow Broker and rescued Feron. But Liara could not let the opportunity slip away and instead chose to take the Broker’s place in the same position. He hoped she would choose to join him in battle against the Collectors but he could not begrudge her desire to become the new Shadow Broker. A powerful position with military, economic, and informational strengths offered a strong ally not only against the collectors but moving forward against the Reapers.

Before leaving, Liara broached the topic of his relationship with Miranda. He knew Liara cared for him deeply and at another time or under other circumstances, he felt similar emotions for her. She never showed any signs of betrayal or hurt but he knew how deeply she cared for him, and her slight dig at Miranda’s perfection solidified his beliefs. But for all her perfection and glaring faults, Shepard cared for the Cerberus operative, loved her – which made Liara’s words affirming Miranda’s personality change all the more jarring. How had she changed? What happened?

Cold, calculating, professional, intelligent, and determined, Miranda Lawson exuded strength and independence. In reflection, Miranda warmed to him in private – smiling, affectionate gestures, a kiss or touch, even the occasional laugh. Yet she easily switched from a warm and even sensitive woman to a hardened and focused, driven operative. Despite the polarized personality, she forever existed within a grey medium, difficult to read and even harder to predict.

The door to his cabin opened. “Shepard.” Miranda strode inside, confident and head high, eyes determined and focused. “Good to see you made it. T’Soni is going back?”

“Yeah,” he pushed up to his feet, slowly and bit back the wince at his aching muscles.

“I’m surprised,” she shrugged. “I thought she would follow you to hell.”

“I was hoping so too,” he answered. “It’s better this way.” He dismissed and walked to his desk, picking up the N7 helmet. “Liara went everywhere with me. I took her on every fight, every planet. It was Tali, Liara and myself. All the time. I just hoped that maybe we could have that again. But two years is a long time, apparently,” he finished with a disgusted edge. “So everyone keeps telling me.”

“Because it is,” she responded simply and leaned back into her hip. “Is that what you really want then? Just you and the quarian with T’Soni?”

“I don’t know, it would have been nice don’t you think?” He growled and threw the helmet to the bed. It bounced off the mattress and tumbled to the floor with a clanking crash. “It would just be nice if someone from my last squad would just trust me. After everything we went through against Saren and Sovereign, it would just be nice to know I have them at my back.”

“You have more trust than you think.”

He sighed and pressed his hands into the desk. Ducking his head, shoulders curled he closed his eyes and shifted his feet back for balance. “I have Garrus, and Tali is here for me – so she’s told me in those words. She hates you though and everything Cerberus stands for.”

“I don’t need her to like me. I just need her to kill Collectors, follow orders and not shoot me in the back.”

Shepard glanced back over his shoulder. “Did you find out anything? What happened with your terminal?”

“I think so,” she said and turned from him to step towards the aquarium, arching a brow at the two fish floating belly side up at the top. “I made some inquiries a few days ago, poked around. Did a little research. I covered my tracks, so I thought.” She faced him. “I did a little digging about that information you collected. The data we rescued; the data that would incriminate Cerberus and you wouldn’t destroy it. I wanted to see what I could find. If what we saw was possibly true. I suppose my inquiries alerted the Illusive Man. Whether it was him or someone acting with his order, I don’t know. But they were after that data.”

"So you hacked Cerberus and the Illusive Man caught onto you."

"I wouldn't quite explain it that way. But something like that."

"What exactly did you search for?"

"The various projects from that encrypted data," she explained. "The few where we saw project names. Personnel. I just did a little digging. I suppose he caught onto me after I divulged that information to Jacob after his father, probably had my terminal tracked." She glared. "I should have known. Been more careful."

"He found out what you were looking for then. And figured we had that data, wanted it gone." He approached her, standing beside her as he gazed at her profile, admiring before glancing up at the aquarium. He muttered a curse, huffing beneath his breath as he waved a hand over the sensor. A metallic plate emerged from the ceiling and skimmed over the top of the water, pulling the dead fish towards the right end and into an awaiting disposal unit.

"You should probably stop buying fish." She commented, sarcastically and offered an infuriating smirk as she tapped the glass lightly. "You can't seem to keep them alive more than a week."

"Sorry," he growled. "I get a little distracted. You know, saving the galaxy and trying not to get my head blown off every time I step off the ship. And the hamster is doing fine."

Her neck twisted as she glanced back over her shoulder at the glass tank behind his desk and the scurrying small rodent inside. “Don’t you find the scurrying, scratching and gnawing excessively annoying?”

“Not at all. Why? Do you?”

“Despite what you may have been told, I do have some patience.” She stated simply and stepped around him towards the bedstand and picked up the discarded helmet. “This means a lot to you.”

“Just a lot of memories. They’re still fresh.” He leaned casually against the aquarium, arms crossed over his chest. “I was surprised to see the breastplate at Liara’s. I wonder if she has the rest of it.”

“Why?” Curiously, she peered over her shoulder. “Do you want it?”

Slowly closing the distance between them, he took the helmet and stared down at it with distant eyes. “No. Wouldn’t do me much good.” He turned from her to walk towards his desk and set the helmet carefully on the back corner. “Nostalgia, I guess. It’s not really fitting anymore. I’m not that man.”

“Of course, you’re not,” she answered and followed him. “Why would you be?”

“Because you don’t just change who you are in a matter of months, I don’t care what has happened to you.” He snapped and paced away from her. Sinking onto the foot of his bed, he closed his eyes and ducked his head into his hands. Exhaling a slow breath, he muttered. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel myself lately.”

“You’ve been under a lot of pressure. We all have,” she responded simply and sunk into her hip. “I … I am curious if your offer still stands? From a few days ago. We have just been so busy, we haven’t really had much time lately.”

The corner of his lips ticked with the hint of a smile and he lifted his head from his hands to glance up at her, eyes raking the lines of her body. “Oh, I’m definitely interested.”

“Glad to hear it,” she smirked. “I’ll be by next time things are quiet.”

“You could just stay now,” he offered and sat up, pinching his shoulders back to stretch. “We’ve got a little bit of time before our next destination.”

“Not that much,” she pushed off her back foot and took a couple of steps towards the bed. Reaching out, she trailed cool and gentle fingertips along the side of his head, tracing the hair behind his ear. “I never asked if you were hurt from the fall. The few stories?”

“Worried?”

“Concerned,” she corrected and tilted her head to better examine his expression. “You’re exhausted, Shepard. Get some sleep.”

“Stay,” he implored, his eyes intense at the simple statement.

Edged, she stepped back, leaning into the hip in a display of control as her eyes quickly glanced to the door. “There’s a lot to do, Shepard. Reports and seeing to the upgrades. Plus we need more element zero.”

“There will always be something to do,” he pushed to his feet and closed the distance between them, slowing slipping his hand along her waist to rest on her hip. Shifting his weight, he leaned down and kissed her softly, slowly. Sighing against her mouth, his hand tightened. Miranda closed her eyes, pursing her lips to his and rested her hand on his chest through the tender, chilling kiss.

She pressed gently on his chest and he broke the kiss yet stayed within inches of her mouth. Swallowing her resolve, she pressed harder and when he stepped back she ducked her head to look at the floor. Twisting slightly at the waist, she ran her fingers of the thigh fasteners of her boots. At his boyish smile, she smirked. “Making it easier for you.”

“I appreciate it,” he responded deeply and tugged his shirt from his pants then lifted the fabric over his head. Turning from her, he tossed the shirt to the far corner of the room. Pressing his toe into the heel of his opposite foot, he pried off the boot then squatted slightly, lifting his leg to tug it off. Dropping both boots to the floor, he crawled onto the bed, stretched out onto his side and watched her.

She focused on her task, working the fasteners of first one boot and then the other, never lifting her gaze to watch him. She walked to the opposite side of the bed and sat, tugging the first boot off and sighed in relief. She wiggled her toes at the freedom and gripped the free foot resting on her thigh, rubbing it to ease the ache. Pulling off the other boot, she set it carefully beside the first then flexed that foot and wiggled the toes as well before twisting the ankle to look at the heel and the reddened irritation – the first sign of a blister.

She jumped when firm confident fingers tickled her lower back, teasing up the spine then down again. Her head turned towards the door and she looked at the aquarium and the unlocked door of the cabin before turning her head a little further, her eyes glancing back towards him.

Shepard lifted up onto his hand and leaned towards her, hooking his head near her shoulder to kiss her. Emotion, hunger and affection infused with his kiss as his free hand slipped over her thigh and settled on her stomach. “Come here,” he whispered and pressed on her abdomen, gently coaxing her to turn into him as he kissed her again.

She hummed against his mouth and reached up to cup his cheek with her palm. Twisting fully at the waist, she lifted up onto her knees before stretching out beside him on the bed.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Days passed quickly, missions concluding with relative ease and little complication. Samara found peace in stopping her daughter from taking any more innocent lives. Though difficult and mentally exhausting, Samara held nothing back in her attack on Morinth and willingly took the life of the daughter she cherished. Shepard offered support but in truth, it amounted to little. What could he understand of the centuries long hunt Samara endeavored upon in chase of the renegade Ardat-Yakshi or the pain in taking a child’s life?

Shepard knew the decision and act pained Samara, for despite her pledge to the code and her commitment to the Justicars, she loved her daughter. No mental discipline possessed the power to completely eradicate so strong an emotion as a mother’s devotion. In the hopes to distract Samara from well contained grief, Shepard asked her to accompany him to the Quarian Fleet to respond to the treason charges levied against Tali.

Vehement in his defense, Shepard stood before the admirals to defend his crewmate and friend. After the countless life endangering missions Tali voluntarily entered on his behalf, Shepard responded with passionate and fierce loyalty, speaking out against the ludicrous charges. Even after discovering the treasonous acts of Tali’s father, Admiral Rael’Zorah, Shepard remained true to his friend’s innocence and even avoided disclosing any information incriminating about her Father. His impassioned rhetoric worked; the admiralty dismissed any charges against Tali.

In route to Aite to investigate the recently silent Cerberus facility, Shepard stood by his desk, staring at the framed dog tags Liara gifted him once she assumed the role of Shadow Broker. A soft confident hand pressed into his back and slid up to his shoulder. He relaxed at the familiar touch and tilted his head enough to peer over his shoulder, hand tightening on the framed dog tags.

“You’ve been staring at those for nearly five minutes,” she commented, softly. “Did you hear anything I said?”

“Sorry,” he set the frame down and turned to her. “You were talking about the facility right?”

“I was,” she turned from him and walked down the stairs towards the couch and picked up one of the datapads on the table. “There isn’t much information beyond what was happening before it went dark. And to be honest, I’m not entirely sure these reports are accurate. There are inconsistencies.”

Sinking onto the couch with a pained sigh, he closed his eyes. “I’m not surprised.” Legs extended slightly, head lulled to the side, he settled deeply into the cushions. “You’ll come with me? You’re Cerberus’s top Operative and I have no idea what we’re walking into down there. I’ll need you at my side.” At her hesitation, he opened his eyes. He furrowed his brow at her confused expression and he sat up. “What is it?”

“I don’t like flying blind. Something is missing and there is no reason that full reports cannot be divulged.” She tossed the datapad onto the table and stalked around the table to sit beside him.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands hanging between his legs. “Last time we jumped into a mission prompted by the Illusive Man, it was a trap and the Collectors nearly had us.” Observing her with careful consideration, he tilted his head when her eyes narrowed in pensive thought. “What is it?” he pried.

Sighing, her eyes lowered, focused on a random darkened point on the floor. “We both know our odds, Shepard, and they’re pretty slim that we will be returning from the Omega relay, and I am fully prepared for that. However, I am not prepared to die before we even get there.” She withheld any further uncertainty and pressed her hands into the couch cushion, pushing to her feet.

“Miranda, I need to know you have my back.”

Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder at him, expression guarded and professional – a usual appearance. An unanswered question hovered between them as she waited expectantly for clarification.

“We’re going down to a Cerberus facility that the Illusive Man still seems to back or at least have interest in.” He stood, his back cracked with the motion, seized and quivered. He clenched his teeth against the discomfort and arched his back further to stretch the taut and twisted muscles though he showed no other sign of pain. “When I was in the Alliance, I chased down and shut down a lot of Cerberus facilities and let’s just say that I never saw anything inside that I thought was worthwhile. I need to know that whatever happens down there, whatever we find, you’re going to have my back. Because if it’s something monstrous down there, there is no way in hell I’m letting Cerberus keep it.”

“Shepard,” She faced him, leaning into a hip as she crossed her arms in a confident display of control. “I have shut down, reestablished, reorganized and purged more Cerberus facilities than the Alliance even knows about. I am more than prepared for what we could be walking into and what we’ll have to do.” Leaning down, she picked up two of the datapads. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” Without hesitation and offering no time for response, Miranda left the Captain’s quarters.

+++

Miranda circled one of the many shorted and scorched terminals in the devastated Cerberus facility. Shepard spoke privately with Dr. Archer – the only survivor so far. Miranda and Jacob focused their attention on the condition of the primary facility, checking for survivors and examining any data about the incident. Calm, controlled, and professional, Miranda walked slowly through the corridors, a small sensor reading datapad in her hand as she scanned for any environmental discrepancies to account for the loss of life.

With little evidence of cause, she returned inside the facility and assisted Jacob gathering the bodies. Stopping to examine each corpse, she inspected for obvious signs of trauma, battle, wounds and fatal injuries. She placed the data scanner on a nearby terminal and gripped the foot of one of the deceased, helping Jacob pull the body away from the shattered glass of an internal window.

“It’s like a warzone here,” Jacob commented. “These are scientists, engineers. They aren’t soldiers.”

“They knew the risks when they signed up with Cerberus,” Miranda answered coolly.

“I guess so,” he shrugged and crouched down to close the eyes of the nearest corpse. “Don’t make it easy to see so many civilians slaughtered. Somebody messed up here. And I think it was him.” Standing, his eyes glanced towards Dr. Archer in a room a few meters away. “Kinda fishy he’s the only one still standing. Something’s going on here and it smells rotten, if you ask me.”

Miranda nodded her agreement, eyes focused on one of the men lying on his back in a row where Jacob placed the deceased. Stepping around a few bodies, she crouched at the man’s side, scanning his face.

“You knew him?”

“You could say that,” her simple response. An understatement. She recognized the man – an engineer from nearly ten years ago. He changed little though the hair at his temples grayed and he weighed nearly two stone heavier than the man of her memory. Assigned to the same project, they worked together attempting to stabilize a cybernetic neural agent for injection into cloned fauna. A close professional relationship soon evolved into an intimate physical relationship. Intelligent, handsome and quick witted, the attraction intense though Miranda remained distant despite sharing his bed.

Hardened and cold from the treatment at her father’s hands, Miranda avoided emotional entanglement, keeping her lover at arm’s length, sharing every physical pleasure with him yet kept closed emotionally. He persisted, warm and joking. Despite her coolness, he romanced her, opened to her and showed her glimpses of the man beneath the brains and the work. He joked about his childhood growing up on Earth and understood her inability to express anything beyond frustration. After particularly difficult days, he said little and massaged the tension from her back with expert hands.

She melted at the touch and though said nothing to him, calmed at the tender gesture. She refused to let emotions cloud her judgment and despite his actions, she never fully warmed to him – she couldn’t and was incapable of emotional attachment.

Unwilling or unable to notice her reticence, he grew attached and loved her. When the project ended, he disclosed his feelings over wine and a rare import of chocolates. He asked her to join him on his next assignment working on establishing a more advanced communication link between networks for planetary facilities. Accepting his offer meant sacrificing the promotion offered as reward for her service, efficiency, and loyalty.

She rejected him, unable to sacrifice her career. Though she enjoyed their time together and he proved a skilled and generous lover, her work occupied her drive and her desire. Scorned, hurt, and embarrassed, he left the facility the following day while she finished closing up the research, transferred all relevant data files, and destroyed any incriminating evidence regarding their findings. She never regretted her choice.

A small shimmer distracted her, broke her free of the memory and she glanced towards his hand. With care and gentleness, she lifted his left hand, examining the simple golden band on his ring finger. Reverently, she set his hand on his chest and crossed the right over the left.

“Alright, let’s go. We have more facilities to secure,” Shepard announced as he passed Miranda and Jacob to exit the building.

Miranda looked up at his words and placed a hand over the engineer’s for a few seconds then stood. Exiting the facility, she waited for Jacob and entered the passenger seat of the Hammerhead vehicle. As Shepard slipped into the driver’s seat, she glanced out of the corner of her eye. Determined, polarizing and strong, he wordlessly demanded attention, loyalty and command. Averting her eyes, she gripped the handle at the side of the door as he quickly accelerated and cut a rough turn.

Despite her every resistance, Shepard slipped under her skin – his strength, his power, his intelligence, his charisma. Her protective walls and icy façade melted and though still erect and strong, their heights and thickness severely shrunk with his persistence.

+++

Miranda faced the door, gun pointed and alert as Shepard accessed the computer terminal. At his prolonged silence, she peered back at him and frowned at his stoicism. She called his name; he didn’t respond. She lowered her weapon and approached his side as his head flew back, neck arching as he trembled. Jacob rushed to the commander’s side but hesitated to touch him. Shepard staggered towards the door.

Miranda frowned and turned to the terminal in a vain effort to see what caused Shepard’s behavior. When Shepard collapsed outside the door, she rushed to its entrance, but the door closed behind him, locking Miranda and Jacob in the room. Jacob pounded on the door as Miranda tapped agile fingers along the console for the door. The grating and garbled voice of the VI echoed through the room and Miranda winced at the annoying and startling sound.

She barked an order for Jacob to open the door as she rushed to the terminal, swiping her fingers over the controls. The VI rattled again in protest and shorted the terminal. With a hiss, Miranda pulled her hands back at the electrifying shock. Cursing at the console, she stormed to the door where Jacob pulled off the panel at the side of the door.

“Damn it,” Jacob growled as he tore at three of the wires, separating them then changed their connection. “It keeps overriding everything I do.”

“Then we need another way,” she responded and her eyes scanned the room, checking along the walls. Leaving the door, she approached the closest duct grating. Kneeling beside the duct grating, she drew her weapon and jammed the butt against the edge of the grating, attempting to loosen it.

“Commander,” Jacob yelled against the door, hoping Shepard heard. “Commander, can you hear me? The door is locked. We can’t get out.”

“Jacob, here.” Miranda holstered her weapon and slipped her fingers into the grating, jerking hard to loosen it. The grate cracked, creaked and bent slightly. Jacob abandoned his work on the door to kneel at Miranda’s side and gripped the grating, using his full strength to pull and bend it away.

The grating moved only a few feet, leaving minimal room; the grating covering stopped and budged no further. Jacob shook his head. “I can’t get it any more. You have to go through and get the door open.”

Miranda secured her weapons. “Keep trying.” Twisting at the waist and with hips piked, she placed one foot into the tunnel and ducked her head. Serpentine-like and agile, she held her breath, sucked in her stomach and slipped into the small opening for the duct. Tight and dark, barely enough room to walk crouched, Miranda fiddled with the earpiece in her ear and flicked on a light. “Shepard? Can you hear me?”

She altered the frequency on the left earpiece, displaying the camera from Shepard’s helmet. He staggered through rooms then paused and seemed to stare at nothing for minutes. “Shepard?” She repeated and drew her pistol as she crouched low with one hand for balance and walked through the duct. Her steps clicked and banged against the metallic duct.

After sixteen steps, she paused at a tee in the duct and glanced left then right. “Jacob? Status.”

“Damn thing … stuck,” he responded, the communication garbled with static. “Don’t think … in. … the door … pull out … open.”

“Damn it,” she leaned back against the wall of the duct. “Jacob. You’re breaking up.” Static hissed. “Jacob?” The rogue VI garbled and cracked into her ear, grating and deafening. With a wince she quickly tore the earpiece from her ear. Eyes closed she pressed at her ear in an attempt to sooth the ringing. Removing both earpieces, she slipped them into the ammo pouch on her belt and chose the left tunnel.

As she walked, she memorized her path, forcing her mind to map her direction. After the third corridor, she paused near a side grating for the duct and peered out. The corridor empty, broken geth laid scattered and torn apart with scorched holes at the head and chest from the thermal shots. Hesitant, she ensured no enemies patrolled.

Laying back, she pressed her lower back and shoulders into the floor of the duct and lifted her legs. Pulling her knees to her chest she kicked both feet at the grate door. Once then again and again; the corridor and duct echoed with the sound of armored boots against metal. By the fifth kick, the center of the grating bent and protruded outward. She focused on kicking the edges and soon the grate popped off with a crash, soaring across the corridor and banged into the opposite wall.

She spun quickly, settling on the side of her hip as she pointed her pistol out the duct opening. Moving quickly and efficiently, she aimed one way then the next before climbing out. Stepping a few feet one way then the next, she peered into one of the internal windows, attempting to identify her location. Reaching into her ammo pouch, she pulled out one of the ear pieces and slipped it into place. “Jacob? Can you read me?”

“I hear you, Miranda,” Jacob answered. “The door just opened suddenly a minute ago. I’m in the hallway. Where are you?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Miranda removed the second earpiece from her ammo pouch and slipped it into her other ear, triggering the orange virtual visor to stretch across her eyes. “Find Shepard. I’ll catch up.”

Turning, she entered the nearest door, eyes sharp and darting as she searched. Empty. Retreating from the room, she jogged down the corridor. After minutes of weaving, she paused, recognizing the room two corridors away from where Shepard wandered. When she entered the final room, Shepard stood at the center, confronting Dr. Archer. Jacob gripped his gun tightly though his arm hung limply at his side, eyes focused on a spherical construct at the center.

Holstering her weapon, she crossed the room as Shepard turned away from Archer and pressed a finger to his ear in communication with Joker. Miranda neared and Shepard released his ear to hold her eyes, expression clouded and simmering with anger. Brow furrowed, she paused before him. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” he answered deeply, eyes troubled, narrowed in disgust but he reached out to rest a hand on her hip. “Can’t say the same for him though,” His head turned to the side and he looked at the central piece of the room.

Miranda turned her head as well to follow his gaze. A man hung suspended at the center of a spherical contraption, naked with limbs extended. Probes punctured multiple points along his skin as stiff straps held his arms and legs in place, another wrapped around his waist to prevent him from moving. His head arched back, delicate metallic claws forcing his eyes open as two large tubes plunged down his throat. “The square root of 906 … is 30.1,” the man said, his eyes darting back then forth as if reading something.

How he spoke, Miranda wasn’t sure. Stepping away from Shepard, she stood beside Jacob, who stood still in shock and horror. Her expression cold, she approached the spherical device. “What happened?”

“David’s a savant,” Shepard answered, flatly. “Seems he was able to talk to the geth. So Dr. Archer here thought it would be a great idea to integrate his brother with the geth system. Have a human control their network.”

“Make it stop,” David begged as tears slipped from his eyes. “The square root of 906 is 30.1.”

Miranda’s head snapped to the side, eyes narrowed and shoulders tensed. “He did this to his brother?” Memories and thoughts of Oriana flooded her mind, and she pictured her sister in a similar situation. But Miranda never willingly endangered her sister, she protected and took care of her.

“I don’t really care why he did it or even who he did it to,” Shepard growled. “You just don’t do that to someone, especially when they’re like David. He didn’t have a say, it wasn’t his choice. Jacob, get him out of that.”

“No, you can’t just …” Dr. Gavin Archer stepped forward but paused at the warning glare from the Commander. “It’s not that simple to detach him. He’s fully integrated into the geth systems and to pull him out could severely overload his mind.”

“Then get him out!” Shepard ordered and Archer ducked his head as he rushed to the console. Fingers swiping and tapping, he popped the probes from David’s arms and legs. Jacob and Miranda eased into the contraption. Shepard stood behind Archer, arms crossed and threatening. Piece by piece, the contraption extracted itself from David; Jacob reached up and caught the man as he crumpled with the release of the tension.

David flinched at the touch though with atrophied muscles, he resisted little. Miranda crouched with Jacob, helping him set David on the ground. David sank onto the floor then curled up onto his side, panting, winded, thin, naked and trembling. He muttered a series of square roots, twitching as his muscles sought the stimulation of the probes.

“Jacob, go out and wait for the shuttle.” Shepard ordered and when Jacob saluted and obeyed, the commander pressed his fingers into his ear. “Joker, can you hear me?”

“Loud and Clear, Commander,” Joker answered.

“Send down the shuttle for pick up. We’ll need some blankets, spare set of clothes and make sure Dr. Chakwas is on board. Stretcher too. I don’t think he can walk.”

“Shuttle extraction in six minutes thirteen seconds, Commander,” EDI stated.

Crouched beside David, Miranda rested a hand on his shoulder in an attempt at comfort. Awkward with the display, she pulled her hand back and stood, instead standing, striding away from the savant and towards Dr. Archer. With strong and accusatory eyes, she searched the shaken scientist’s expression. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course, Operative.” Archer responded, straightly. “Any project leader is aware of you and what you do. But my work has all been sanctioned by the Illusive man, himself.”

Head tilting slightly, Miranda held the strong but wavering gaze of the Cerberus scientist. “And he knew exactly how you planned on controlling the geth?”

“Controlling the geth would be an enormous asset to humanity’s strength.” He shook his head, motioning to the machinery at the center of the room. “Can you imagine the power we would wield if we could use the geth on the front lines of any conflict?”

Challenging, she staggered her feet and responded with ice. “The benefits of a geth army are undeniable. I mean to question your motives on a far more personal level. How could you do this to your brother?” The venomous question hung in the air, crisp and weighted in accusatory disgust. At Archer’s hesitation, Miranda turned from the scientist in dismissal.

+++

Pragia proved a difficult and painful reminiscence of the past for Jack as she walked through the facility that once imprisoned her. Her ordeals horrified him and though Miranda watched the entire tour through the cameras in his helmet, she remained relatively quiet to the visual evidence and Jack’s stories. He wondered of the Operative’s response and resisted the urge to ask her input. He never rushed Jack, gave her time to reflect. Aboard the shuttle after planting detonation charges throughout the facility, he watched cautiously as Jack sat opposite him, gripping the detonator in her hand as her thumb casually flicked open and closed the safety, exposing the trigger then covering it again.

Jack stared blankly out the window of the small shuttle and flicked the safety open one more time. Her thumb hesitated over the button and her eyes slowly met Shepard’s. When the Commander pounded on the cockpit door, the shuttle quickened and ascended higher into the atmosphere. Jack looked down at the button and within a sense of both revenge and closure, she pressed the button, detonating all the charges in the abandoned Cerberus facility.

The ship’s temporary peace erupted within hours of returning when Shepard rushed to Miranda’s office to prevent an explosive encounter. He resisted the initial urge to immediately defend Miranda and instead focused on his role as commander and successfully diffused the situation by convincing both women to focus their anger on the Collectors instead of each other. It surprised him the argument worked. He expected the two to lash out, tear each other apart. He prayed the animosity simmered well beneath the surface at least until after the mission.

Shepard followed Jack into the belly of the ship and stood at the base of the stairs as she released an infuriating roar and cast a biotic charge at a stacked pillar of crates, effectively toppling them. She paced away from the crates then sunk onto the cot, legs spread and elbows resting on her thighs. Turning her attention to the stairs, she eyes Shepard with disgust. “You know I’m right. After seeing that twitching vegetable Cerberus plugged into the geth and the facility they kept me in? We were like fucking dogs! And you still side with that blind bitch.”

Shepard crossed his arms, leaning casually against the cool metal of the ship’s hull. “I’m not siding with her. And I’m not siding with you. I’m trying to keep my team from killing each other before we even jump through the Omega 4 relay. My sole focus right now is this mission and stopping the Collectors.”

“Hah!” she scoffed with a shake of the head. “You just tell your dick that next time you’re following her to her room.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed with the jab. “Jealous?”

“Hmff, you wish,” Jack commented, amused. “Look, Shepard, you’re a little too squeaky behind the ears for me. But I get it. Ya like getting’ your cock wet and she’s willing to do it. But don’t forget exactly who she is and who these fucking people are.”

Pushing off the wall, he stalked across the darkened bay towards her and leaned back on the table, sitting carefully. “And yet you’re still here and haven’t blown anyone’s head off.”

Shifting, she swayed left then right, leaned back and brought a single leg up, planting her foot onto the bed and draping an arm over the raised knee. “Been thinkin’ about it. Just haven’t had the time. Plus the bitch has been staying a deck away from me. As if that could stop me when my finger itches enough.” At Shepard’s silence, she tilted her head, eyes narrowed in curiosity. “You’re not defending her. I’ve been ripping apart your walking cock holster and you just stand there with your mouth shut.”

He shrugged, unimpressed. “Would it matter? You’d just keep doing it anyway. I don’t care what you think of her or me or anyone on this ship. There are only three things you need to know.” He uncrossed his arms and held up an index finger. “First, this is my ship and my rules. Period.” He held up his middle finger. “Second. Don’t shoot team members at least until after we stop the collectors. After that, I really don’t care what you do.” He held up his ring finger. “Third. Follow orders in the field. I don’t care that none of you are soldiers, it’s a military operation and the only way we’re getting out of this alive is if we’re all on the same page.”

“Works for me,” she answered, sharply, lifting her chin. “But if that brainwashed cheerleader tries to turn me over to Cerberus when this is all done, I’ll skin her alive and anyone else in my way.” She leaned forward, pointing a finger towards Shepard. “We clear?”

“That’s not going to happen,” he pushed off the wall. “When this is over, we’re going back to Omega and everyone is getting off who wants to get off, same thing at the Citadel. Our agreement is defeating the Collectors. Nothing after.”

Jack rhythmically tapped her fingers on her knee as she weighted Shepard’s words – truth or lies. Finally, she nodded. “Alright, Shepard. You win. But Omega. First stop.”

“First stop,” he affirmed. “We good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” She swung her legs up onto the cot and lay down, crossing her feet as she tucked her arms under her head in dismissal.

+++

Miranda entered the dimmed Starboard Observation, stepping quietly around Samara to the large window looking out to the vast void of space. Needing a change of scenery, she retreated to the crew’s library with little intention of reading, instead opting for quiet reflection. Samara continued her meditation, seated at the center of the floor in butterflied position, her wrists resting on each knee with finger tips pressed together. Biotic energy pulsed, her eyes glazed in white as she internalized her thoughts.

Samara ceased her meditation, her eyes normal again and she peered up at the Cerberus Operative with a calm and yet emotionless gaze; Miranda ignored the penetrating stare. “You seem troubled,” the Asari noted then returned to her meditation, eyes whitening.

“I’ll be fine,” Miranda replied calmly, gaze unwavering from the stars.

Samara inhaled slowly then exhaled as muscles relaxed, growing heavy as they responded to the deeper meditation, despite her active conversation – as if her mind compartmentalized to achieve both a state of awareness and one of calm relaxation. “You carry many burdens and share few, perhaps none. As it should be. Strength comes from within.”

Reflective, Miranda crossed her arms and leaned against the metal of the hull near the window’s edge. “How do you kill your own daughter?” her delivery stoic as she leaned into her hip, heavily against the frame of the window.

“Because my code demanded it,” Samara responded with ease. “Do you find that cold? Callous?”

“No,” she shook her head and her neck twisted to turn her eyes to the meditating Asari. “Curious. Does it bother you?”

“Just because I take the pledge of the code of the Justicars does not mean I am heartless or without emotion. It simply means that I do not have shades of grey to cloud my decisions. My code dictates them.” She stopped her meditation again and pushed to her feet, stepping up to the window to peer outside. “It eases the weight of decisions. Black … or white. Left … right. I did not wish to kill my daughter, but her choices left me no other option.”

At Miranda’s silence, Samara faced the Operative. “I will give you time to reflect.” Samara stated. “I find reflection a satisfying mental exercise. The vast emptiness of space is an excellent focus point.” Without waiting for a response, Samara left the room.

In quiet reflection, Miranda stared into the vastness of space, vision blurring as her thoughts retreated inward at Samara’s advice. After calming minutes, she shifted her weight, easing away from the wall of the ship. The bolts of the hull rubbed against her form-fitting catsuit, tugging obstinately at the fabric on her arm, pulling it before the honeycombed suit snapped back against her. She scowled at the distraction and reached up to rub the annoying pick marring the perfectly fitted outfit. Sighing in resignation, she turned her back to the door and focused at the glimmering stars again. Her eyes randomly traced patterns in the starlight, connecting each star to form random visions of buildings, weapons or starships.

The door to the room opened, and Miranda broke from her meditation with little movement. She sensed the presence enter the room, familiar in step and scent. Her eyes closed as he stepped behind her without hesitation and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. She caved back into him, quiet as she kept her gaze on the stars outside the window.

Shepard pressed a tender kiss to the soft flesh behind her ear, pride swelling at her uncontrolled tremble as he teased one of her more sensitive points. He smiled against the pulsepoint and he turned his head to follow her gaze out the window. “Sometimes I forget how amazing it really can be,” he commented softly, voice deep and steady.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her tone detached and guarded.

“Space. The stars,” he clarified. “Growing up in space, I guess it just doesn’t mean too much anymore. You always see it. It’s routine. But for someone from Earth … someone who spent most of their life on a planet, it must be amazing to wake up in the morning and see that.” At her silence, he pressed. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

“I never suggested you weren’t,” he responded simply with a casual shrug. “But I’m more perceptive than you give me credit for. I need your head clear going forward. And it doesn’t make you weak or anything like that if you share something with someone. That’s how these things work you know. We help each other through problems. Hell, look at what you’ve helped me through. Let me return the favor.”

“I don’t have a problem,” she defended, chin lifted in defiance. “I’m just thinking. I will be more than able to perform whatever duty or task assigned when the time comes.”

“I need more than that, Miranda.” he probed. “You’ve got to give me something.” When she gave no response, he sighed and stepped away from her.

Heat leached from her and she exhaled slowly as his steps signaled his retreat. “You’re taking David to the Alliance?”

He paused at her inquiry and glanced back over his shoulder, eyes focused on the cat-like line of her spine, hips then neck and head. “Yeah. They’ll take care of him.”

Nodding slowly, she shifted her weight, dipping her hip. “I’m just thinking about Oriana,” she finally offered.

Shepard faced her but remained at the door. “She’s safe. We made sure of it.”

“I know,” she said and turned away from the window, leaning back against the glass and enjoying the cool chill against her, penetrating through her suit. “I’m just thinking differently,” she admitted with disdain and shook her head. “And I can’t be. I need to stay focused.”

“What do you mean thinking differently?” He crossed the floor and sat on the couch that faced the window, leaning back casually and crossed his leg, ankle resting on his knee. He gripped the raised ankle and watched her. “About what?”

“Everything,” she answered with confusion. “Like David. I just don’t understand how he could do that to his own brother. I think about Oriana …” she trailed off, and her head tilted back, pressed against the glass as she stared at a darkened corner of the room. “I could never do that to my own sister. I don’t care what kind of genius or savant she was. How do you just plug her into a machine as if she were some advanced CPU and not feel any guilt?”

“How does Cerberus do anything it does? Look at the extremes. You’ve admitted so much yourself. Does it really surprise you that someone would go to these lengths for the insane experiment to speak to and control the geth?”

“The experiment is a viable experiment,” she defended and turned her eyes to him. Bending her arm at the elbow, she pressed the backs of her fingers against her chin in thought. “If we could control the geth, can you imagine the asset at our control? We could use the geth as a major ground force against the Reapers and with them mobilized under the control of a human mind, we could organize them to a strength never seen before.”

He frowned and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward with elbows rested on thighs. “But you were just thinking about David. How could you say that after what you saw they did to him in order to control the geth?”

“It bothers me that he did it to his brother, not that he did it. I never could put Oriana through that. A stranger? Or a willing volunteer? I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

“They shoved tubes down his throat and through every orifice of his body!”

“What do you think I did to you?” she countered calmly. “The first year of your reconstruction was not pretty and was likely painful to your nervous system. Your mind just doesn’t know how to process it so likely you don’t remember it. But there were tubes and probes and needles everywhere to sustain you while parts grew and the cybernetics replicated to repair irreparable tissues.” She motioned to him with her hand. “You were not a willing patient, nor a volunteer. And look at the result.”

“It’s not the same.” He pushed to his feet. “How do you compare a medical procedure to some insane assumption and power grab to control a race of Artificial Intelligence?”

“Of course it is. The purpose of the tubes and probes is the same. To sustain the body when normal sustenance cannot be used. Our goals are even the same. To find and develop - in my case reconstruct - items, weapons, assets and people to aid in humanity’s struggle for survival and in this case with the coming war against the Reapers. Agree with him or not, the idea of controlling a computerized race of AI which is capable of weaponized warfare is a brilliant idea. Maybe not in the manner executed, but the idea is sound.”

“Of course it’s not sound,” he tossed back with a scoff. “What happens when the human controlling the geth becomes power hungry? Or worse, indoctrinated by the Reapers?”

“That is why every project needs a kill switch. One that is readily available to pull if things get out of control.”

“Like when Cerberus tried controlling biotics like Jack.”

“Exactly,” she confirmed with a confident nod. She sighed and turned from him to look back out into space. “I don’t expect you to agree with me, Shepard, or even understand. In fact, I like that you don’t. It is further confirmation that the Lazarus Project was a success and you are the same man you were before. Though you feel that sometimes you make heartless and cold choices, sacrificing people and things for the greater good, in the end you are still a paragon of virtue,” the last three words delivered as a teasing jab. “You stand by your morals, the basis of what is good no matter the cost. And if you’re forced to make a decision that sways and shakes the core of your good hearted faith, it haunts you.” She paused. “My support of Archer’s experiment and the work with biotics bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“A little, yeah,” he admitted and closed the distance between them to lean against the frame of the window, watching her expression. “And that you think you know so much about me.”

“Don’t act like it’s not true,” she replied. “I know more about you than you know about yourself.”

Quirking a smile, he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just because you can rattle off some list of bullet points out of a psych eval doesn’t mean you know me.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “But I am not talking about medical evaluations, officer reports or your school grades. It was my job to study you, Shepard. To know you and everything about you. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m very good at my job.”

“So am I.”

As silence lingered, extending beyond the point of comfort. Miranda stepped back, pivoting her hips to face him as she balanced on her back leg. “Then ask the question you’re biting back.”

He leaned closer. “Alright. If Overlord was your project, would you do to David what Archer did?”

“The answer’s not that simple,” she replied with a short shake of the head. “Archer made the wrong choice because there were too many variable he didn’t calculate. His brother had the mathematical mind to meld with the geth but he was also fearful maybe even simple. Emotionally, he had no control or understanding of what was happening. All of those people are dead and the project terminated because Archer made a decision too quickly without weighing all the consequences. So to answer your question, no, I would not have put David into that contraption.”

Shepard ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth in thought on the words before shaking his head. “How is it that you make such atrocious experiments sound acceptable?”

“I am not defending the experiment. I am defending the goal,” she explained. “It is Archer’s motives and his actions that you object to more than the concept of controlling the geth. Just like you object to the conditions you saw with Jack in that facility. You cannot hold an entire organization responsible for the acts of the few.”

“You’re ideological.”

“So are you. We just use different vehicles.”

He stepped towards her, his calloused hand resting gently on her stomach as he inquired. “You’ve terminated a lot of projects then, rogues and renegades?”

“I have,” she nodded and leaned subconsciously into his touch. “More than I can count on my hands.”

“I see. And what’s my kill switch?”

She searched his eyes, resisting the answer before admitting in a soft whisper. “I am.”


	21. Chapter 21

A little girl with milky white skin and deep black hair sat on a medical table in a cold and sterile operating room. She sucked on her lower lip – a nervous habit as her fingers gripped the edge of the metallic table, tips tapping rhythmically as her legs swung forward and back in childish impatience. The door to the room swooshed open and a woman in surgical attire stepped inside, her face covered with a mask and gloves extending to the elbows. “Good Morning, Miranda. And how are we feeling today?”

The child scratched the flesh of her forearm, unaware of her actions as she shrugged. “Ok, I guess,” she answered softly. “Do … do I really have to get another shot today?”

“You know it’s time,” the woman responded, coolly, no calm or warmth offered. “Now let’s see your arm.”

The child held her arm closer to her body in fear and uncertainty. “But I just had a shot.”

“And it’s time for another,” the woman answered and reached for the nearby tray. She plucked the syringe from the tray and pulled off the plastic protection encasing the three inch needle. Stabbing the needle into the small bottle on the tray, the woman filled the syringe with a glowing blue liquid.

The child shrunk back at the sight, eyes transfixed on the unhidden process. “It hurts,” she whispered.

“This is necessary,” the woman stated, coldly, and pressed on the plunger of the syringe until liquid squirted from the needle.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Right through there,” the woman pointed to a large mirror the size of a wall. “Just like always.”

The child looked at the mirror, staring at the reflection. She closed her eyes, holding her arm tightly to her body.

The woman gripped the child’s wrist and forced the arm to extend. “Relax your arm or it will hurt more. Do you want it to hurt like it did last time?”

“No,” the child whimpered and released a long and heavy sigh trying to focus enough to relax her muscles.

The woman tapped her fingers along the crook of the child’s elbow, drawing the vein to the surface. “Stop moving,” she ordered, sharply and when the child froze, the scientist resumed her coaxing of the vein. With precision, she inserted the long needle.

The child closed her eyes and looked away at the stinging sharp piercing pain and squeezed her eyes close. Her lower lip quivered as a shaky breath expelled from her lungs. She pressed her lips tightly together as the searing hot liquid injected into her blood and the sensation of burning fire slowly spread from the injection point throughout the arm.

The woman removed the syringe once empty and placed it on the tray. Using a piece of gauze, she pressed the fabric to the injection point. Without prompting, the child held the gauze in place and brought her arm close to help add pressure to stop any bleeding. Gathering the tray, the woman left the room.

“That’s a good girl, Miranda,” Henry Lawson spoke through the intercom. “Daddy is very proud of you.”

The child smiled at the mirror. “I didn’t cry this time, Daddy.” She whispered with a proud smile though her eyes glassy from withheld tears. “Just like you said.” No further response came. “Daddy?” The burning in her arm intensified seeping and spreading at a glacial speed from arm into shoulder and then chest.

She ducked her head and her injected arm fell limp at the side, the gauze falling away with three spots of marring blood upon the sterile white. Her body trembled and twitched as the room grew cold and her skin boiled hot. Her blood pumped, quickening with each pounding contraction of her heart. “Daddy, it burns …” she moaned. “Worst than before.”

The injection point swelled, tingling as if microscopic parasites gnawed at the opening, tearing it and shredding it. The child scratched at the point though with nails cut so short, it offered little relief. Sweat beaded on her brow and her breath quickened in panic. She slipped down off the table, landing on her feet then dropping to her knees at the three foot drop. “Daddy?” She cried softly, weakly. With knees wobbling, she pushed to her feet then swayed. Blood vessels swelled and tears dripped from her eyes. A faint blue aura pulsed around her, rhythmic and steady as it surrounded the body within a centimeter of the skin.

The child collapsed and in a primal response of retreat, crawled to the back corner of the room, whimpering and trembling. The aura encapsulated the body, slow and constant. Once in the corner, the child curled into herself, frightened, aching, and pained. Every pump of blood burned her from the inside as her skin bubbled. Forcing her eyes opened, she stared at her arms – her body showed no outward signs of what happened within other than her aura. Sixteen injection points marred each arm at various stages of healing, some fresh scars, others recent punctures.

Scratching the new injection point, she cried freely as the burning intensified. The aura grew around her, intensifying with each passing minute until it reached an uncontrollable height. Pressure increased within the tiny body as the burning extended into the brain. She howled at the sizzling pain and gripped her head, ducking low in self defense.

Her eyes pulsed, bloodshot from the pressure and her teeth clenched. The aura exploded and the room shuttered, equipment flickering as unsecured items flew from their resting place. The child crumpled to the floor, still conscious but feeble, panting, sweating. She whimpered in relief after the explosion as the pressure disappeared though the burning remained. Arm twitching, she weakly scratched the bleeding injection point.

Henry Lawson’s voice resounded through the intercom in the adjoining room where the woman in the surgical outfit watched through the small window of the door. The child heard only the garbled tone of her father as the door opened. Unable to resist, she lay limply as two strong arms lifted her from the floor and carried her from the room.

+++

Aboard the Normandy, Miranda stood outside the medical bay in the dimly lit mess hall, staring in the window at David. The deck was darkened as most of the crew slept for the night. David lay on the medical bed, his muscles twitching randomly as he muttered in his sleep, his body scarred and marred from the contraption in which he was held. Absently, she scratched at her left forearm. Her repressed memories repeated in haunting intensity. Her usual well placed mask fell away as vivid visions of the past flooded her mind, toying with her, testing her.

Shepard stood quietly to the side, unnoticed as he watched her expression with peaked interest. For nearly half an hour, she stood at the window watching David sleep. As time passed, her icy stoicism melted replaced with hurt, betrayal, uncertainty and even fear. He wondered what haunted her, what thoughts raced through her mind to cripple her but he resisted the desire ask, the act an intrusion.

She blinked quickly a few times, dampening her dried eyes and looked away to a random point on the floor, hand still absently scratching a point on her inner forearm. Shepard remained in place, not hidden but still out of view from her line of sight. Her emotions and uncertainty, loss clear in her expression and she closed her eyes in expert meditative persistence as she controlled the swelling memories. Slowly, her eyes opened, and she saw Shepard.

Miranda willed her walls to erect however they lay in ruin from her recent memories and thinking herself alone, she was unprepared to recuperate so quickly. Opting for retreat, she turned from him and crossed quickly across the mess hall to her office. Unwilling to let her run, Shepard followed.

The lights dimmed low in Miranda’s office, the only sound the faint hum of the ship engines vibrating through the walls of the hull, a faint din. Miranda sat on the bed, a silhouette in the darkened bedroom and far from the emergency lighting in the office area. Her shoulders slumped, she leaned over and though she moved slightly, Shepard paused, unsure as to her action. Slowly, she tugged off one boot and set it beside the bed. He watched transfixed as the silhouette carefully removed the second boot, and she pressed her bared foot into the mattress, fingers rubbing at the toes.

“Just go, Shepard,” she whispered softly, voice steady with strength despite its gentle tone.

“No.”

“I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

“I want to be alone.” She stood from the bed and turned her back on him, twisting at the waist as her fingers fiddled with the button and clasps on the side of her suit.

“Well, I don’t,” he stated and sat at the foot of her bed, facing the door. Leaning over, he unhooked the clasps of his boots.

She peered back over her shoulder at him, pausing her act of undress. “What is it?” Perceptively noting his discomfort and distraction.

“Should ask you the same thing.” Head ducked, he pulled off one boot and dropped it to the floor with a thud. “You were staring into the medbay for half an hour.”

“I was not,” she replied, coldly, though the retort a weak and almost childish response. She shook her head, disgusted and unzipped the side of her suit from breast to waist. Shrugging out of the shoulders, she eased the suit down to her waist, bared back to him.

He pulled off his other boot and dropped it as well before gripping the hem of his shirt with crossed arms and tugged it over his head. He rolled the shirt into a ball and tossed it towards the chair. The crumpled shirt landed at the center, opening slightly mid flight and hanging half off the seat. “You were. Kind of dazed too. Like you were thinking about something.” He stood and faced her as he fiddled with the buckle of his belt, eyes on the delicate line of her back, and he narrowed his eyes in focus on the clasp of her bra before letting his eyes rise to the profile of her face.

“So I was thinking. Is that a crime?” Unashamed, she bent over and pushed the tight suit off her legs then eased each foot out. Carefully, she folded the suit and set it on the couch. Padding towards the small dresser built into the wall, she swiped her fingers over the sensor.

“Didn’t say that,” he pulled open the belt, the synthetic material whizzing through the organic loops. “Just seemed to be pretty intense is all.”

“Sometimes thinking can get intense,” she commented sarcastically and pinched her shoulders back, reaching behind her to unhook her bra then pulled it from her body. She folded it and set it in the drawer.

Shepard stared, eyes darkening and his hands paused on his pants. He shook away any desire and cleared his throat as he unbuttoned his pants. He leaned over to push his pants off then hooked his toes into the fabric to kick it off his legs. He left them in a pile on the floor. He stretched then crawled onto the bed, pulling down the covers. “You don’t have to be snippy about it. I care, Miranda. You looked upset.”

She stilled one hand still inside the drawer. “Just … a vivid memory. I’m fine.” She replied, hushed and continued to fiddle inside the drawer. She pulled out a fitted short sleeved shirt and pulled it over her head, the fabric soft against the skin. She tugged the shirt down to her waist then walked to the bed.

He lay on his back in his boxers on the bed, feet crossed at the ankles and head lulled to the side to watch her. “What kind of memory?”

“Vivid,” she repeated cryptically and tugged the covers down further before slipping beneath them and turned her back on him with a slow dismissive sigh, separated from him in the double bed.

He smirked. “I caught that. Vivid memory about what?”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I am,” he answered to her back and turned onto his side. Tenderly, he drew his fingers down the delicate line of her spine. “But I’m worried about you. I never saw you like that before.”

“I’m fine.” She shivered at the attention then stiffened to will her muscles to cease their reaction.

Frustrated but well controlled, he retreated from his current strategy and changed the conversation. “This week has gone so fast.” He said, deeply and his hand slipped from her back to rest on her hip. He eased closer to her. “Everything with Samara and then David and Jack. We haven’t had any time for us.”

“The mission is more important than this distraction.”

“You’re more than a distraction,” he admitted and slipped closer, pressing against her and his hand tightened on her hip to pull her back against him. When she settled back into him, he draped his arm around her casually, holding her. “That’s why I’m worried. Just tell me.”

“You’re not giving up, are you?”

“No, and I have you in the perfect position,” he said with an infuriating smirk. “You’re half naked and barefoot which means escape is unlikely. So it is just far less energy on your part to tell me than for us to continue this dance. Don’t you think?”

“You’re annoying.”

He chuckled and nuzzled the back of her neck. “One of my many charms.”

She smiled at that and ducked her chin into her chest, stretching the tiny muscles at his affection and she sighed, resigned. “I was just thinking about my father.” She admitted with reticence.

“Your father,” Shepard repeated and his hand eased along her stomach in an absent and tender caress, slipping slightly under the shirt to touch flesh. His hand stilled then, content with the contact. “Why?”

Quiet for a minute, she hesitated to offer any more insight.

“I didn’t fall asleep you know,”

“Damn it,” she muttered. “Look, why is this so important to you?” She pushed up from the bed and twisted to lay on her back, lifting up to rest on her elbows as she looked down at him.

“Because you’re important to me,” He answered with a confused expression. “Is it so hard to understand why I want to know about you? Why I want to know what bothers you when you look upset?”

“I’m not upset.” She responded, coldly.

He sighed, eyes half lidded in frustration. “Fine. When you’re thinking about something that’s distracting you. Trust me. I think I deserve that much.”

“I don’t trust easily,” she answered, eyes searching his.

“I know.” He sat up as well. “So just try.”

She looked away from him and down at her arm; her right hand subconsciously scratched at her left forearm. She stopped.

“You do that sometimes. Is something wrong?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” he countered and reached behind him for the pillow. He fluffed it then set it back against the headboard. With a pronounced sigh, he leaned back against the pillow, comfortably propped and he arched a brow in expectation.

She watched him situate himself then looked away to the door of her office. After a minute of quiet patient and persistent stares from her bedmate, she spoke. “After you left the observation room, I remained a little while. Just thinking about how much has changed.” Eyes grew distant. “With everything. So much has changed, especially with me. Do you remember your psychological evaluations?” She twisted at the waist to look back over her shoulder at him.

“Which?” he laughed. “I’ve been subjected to a few.”

“There is always a question. True or False. ‘It is acceptable to sacrifice a few for the sake of the many.’ How did you answer that?”

“False,” he answered with ease.

She nodded. “Exactly. And if you answered ‘True’, your evaluation would have been flagged and it may have prevented your admission into the military, certainly your advancement and promotion. But in Cerberus, the opposite is true.”

He watched her intensely. “So you would sacrifice the few for the benefits of the many.”

“That is Cerberus doctrine,” she replied. “And when I joined, I answered ‘True’ without hesitation.”

“And you hesitate now?”

“Yes,” she sighed the admission and looked away. “I never doubted it before. It made sense. Sacrifice the thirty here and save three thousand. Test a cure, a chemical …” she looked down at her arm. “And learn. And then use it to evolve. To advance.”

“But it’s not so simple,” Shepard added. “The question is a trick question anyway. The options of true and false are both idealistic. The correct answer is False. To know that you would then sacrifice yourself to protect those that cannot protect themselves. But moving forward, taking a post of command there will come a time when you have to make that choice. And when you do, it’s not supposed to be easy.”

“So much has been black or white for me, Shepard,” she whispered. “And recently … there has been so much grey. I don’t like grey. It’s like trying to navigate through fog that never clears.”

“Nothing is supposed to be so easy as black or white.” He bent his knees, placing his feet on the mattress and draping his arms over his knees. “You’re full of contradictions.” He thought to the conversation a few hours prior and her rigid straight-forward and idealistic words regarding experimentation. He curiously wondered how long she struggled with a crisis of faith, a wavering in her loyalty to the Cerberus doctrine she easily spouted and yet found difficulty enacting.

“It’s not a contradiction,” she responded sharply though with little conviction. “It is just confusion.”

Tilting his head, he carefully observed her expression, the focus of her eyes and the height of her shoulders, tension in her body. “You said you were thinking about your father. Looking at David reminded you of your father.”

“Father was obsessed with perfection,” she whispered, blankly staring at the door before releasing a sigh and ducking her head, eyes closed. “I know what it’s like to be David. To be Jack.” Silence lingered between them and calloused fingers brushed her back; she jumped but willed her nerves to still. “I understand. More than anyone knows. Seeing him in that machine just … refreshes the memories.”

“How can you defend any experiments if you suffered them?” tone tinged with disgust.

She twisted fully to face him but hips still planted. “Because look at what I am, Shepard!” She extended a hand and biotics pulsed, her aura emerging to within a centimeter of her body at every position, growing like a second skin, protective armor. “What I can do.” The biotic aura swelled and she reached towards him, pressing a cool hand into his chest and the biotics infused into him, stringing through the muscles in a warm deep penetrating massage.

He moaned, eyes fluttering at the sensation but as soon as it began, it ended. He forced his gaze to refocus on the woman sitting beside him, aura faded as she stared absently at her hand. He gripped her hand with his, encasing the cool flesh within his warm palm; it broke her revere and she looked up at him. He held her eyes. “Your father’s experiments do not make you who and what you are.”

“How can you say that?” She pulled her hand away. “My biotics, my intelligence, my looks, my strengths … he created everything. There is nothing about me that was not predesigned. He made me ensuring I would be destined for greatness! Everything I went through … it worked.” she admitted with a confused expression. “I wouldn’t be here. I couldn’t be anything. This is all I know. It’s what I am and I wouldn’t change it. And I hate him for that. For what he did to give this to me … and then breeding another just like me so he could do it all again because I wasn’t enough. Because I couldn’t be controlled. Because I had my own mind.”

“You rescued Oriana because you were jealous?”

“No,” she shook her head, eyes blazing with intensity. “I saved her. I wanted to spare her what I went through to become what I am – the epitome of human existence. The pinnacle of what our own intervention into our genetic code can create. But I wasn’t enough. And if I wasn’t enough, I don’t want to think of how much further he would have gone to perfect Oriana.” She averted her eyes from Shepard. “I want Oriana to have everything that I cannot.”

“What don’t you think you can have?” he probed, voice gentle and nonjudgmental.

She searched his eyes then answered. “Real parents. A family. Marriage, Children. Peace.”

“You’re so sure you can’t find most of those?” he asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed with a shake of the head and turned from him to stare into the darkened office. “Even if we come back from attacking the Collector homeworld, the Reapers will be here. There will be galactic war on a scale never seen before. There will be no peace. No rest. Just strain … pain.”

He shifted closer to her on the bed, arranging himself behind her so she sat between his legs. His arms slipped around her waist and his heels rested near her feet, legs bent slightly at the knee as he enveloped her in warmth. He pulled her back against his chest, his pulse constant, steady and calm. “I’ve been thinking of what will happen after the Collector base,” he husked deeply in her ear, his words quiet, private and intimately shared. “We’ll go to Omega first … drop off the unwanted.” He grinned. “Trouble makers. You know the ones.” At her smile and slow shake of the head, his hold tightened, hands slipping under her shirt to trace random patterns on her stomach with firm confident fingers. “Then maybe the Citadel. Drop off any others and get some supplies. But I don’t think I’m going to repeat what happened the last time I saved the galaxy.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head back onto his shoulder. “Which part? Destroying the council? Or being jettisoned into space forcing me to waste two years of my life to bring a hunk of flesh back to the land of the living?” She smirked, teasingly.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to avoid both of those this time around,” he grinned and kissed her shoulder.

She sighed softly and relaxed back against him. “So now that you’ve decided you want to live, what will you do after you drop off the … how did you word it? Undesirables?”

“I don’t know,” he answered and tickled his fingers higher on her stomach then down again. “Was thinking of maybe a nice long extended shore leave. Then again, last time I did that got stuck in the middle of the Blitz. But I’ll probably decide to do it anyway. I’m thinking of Nevos. Beautiful beaches … romantic twin moons.” He brushed his lips up her neck and kissed her ear. “What do you think?”

She swallowed the moan in the back of her throat at the pressure from his hands. “I think you make a tempting offer. And what would we do with beautiful beaches and twin moons?”

“Before or after I tie you to the bed for twenty four hours,” he growled in her ear then grinned.

She laughed and shook her head, snuggling back into him and her hands slipped along his arms, coaxing his hold tighter. “That sounds relaxing. Usually I jump from assignment to assignment. How will we find downtime with the Reaper threat so close?”

“I want time with you. We can take a week, maybe two. We deserve it.” Fingers continued to trace idle patterns on her stomach then abandoned the flesh to rest on her thighs. “It’s alright to have a change of heart about things. Even things that you once really believed in. We change as we continue to experience. That’s not a bad thing.”

“Of course, it is,” she countered vehemently. “How am I supposed to perform a task or continue with my work if suddenly I find the need to challenge some inherent core belief or purpose behind a project?”

“I don’t know,” he answered softly. “How did I agree to help Cerberus? How did I let the Council die? Sometimes, we just do what we feel has to be done and we stick with our gut. At least that’s what I do.” At her silence, he pressed. “So do you still agree with Project Overlord?”

“It’s complicated,” she leaned forward as if to put some distance between them. “I don’t know. I’m just exhausted. Things will be clearer after I sleep.”

He eased back from her and stretched out on the bed. Laying on his side, he waited for her to join him and then slipped behind her, draping an arm over her waist.

Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes and her fingers slipped along his. “When this is over, will you stay with us? With Cerberus?”

“If I don’t, would you come with me?” He responded and tightened his arms then whispered in her ear. “Don’t answer that. Just think about it.”

“Where would you go? Back to the Alliance?” She peered back at him. “I’d be shot on sight. You realize this don’t you?”

“I could stop that. I could protect you from that. You have so much information that would be valuable.” When she offered no response, he sighed. “Just think about it.”

Miranda lay awake even after Shepard fell asleep, unable to still her thoughts enough to rest. After an hour, exhaustion finally won and she succumbed to a light sleep.

+++

Waves crashed against the shore, pushing the black and brown kelp further up the sand with each swell as the tide rose. Receding, the waves drew out the fine grained sand and shells, relentless in assault and power. Four legged arthropods scurried along the shoreline, some tossing in the rising waves, caught in the current. The sun warmed, intense in its direct heat though little humidity hung in the air. Rhythmic and lulling, the ocean pulsed, calming despite its violent nature.

Shepard knelt and picked up a perfectly rounded pink tinged stone, turning the smooth rock over in his hand before dropping it into the surf. The waves swept over his armor plated boots, drawing the sand around his feet then ankles in perfectly circularly patterns. His armor and the water reflected the sunlight and he squinted, lifting his hand over his brow to shield his eyes. No weapons weighed down his back though a pistol sidearm strapped firmly to his waist. Turning his back to the ocean, he gazed up the shore, focusing on the small bungalow at the edge between the forest and the sand raised on wooden pillars.

Standing on the deck of synthetic wood, Shepard gazed out to the crashing waves. He wiggled his bare toes, curling and straightening them on the deck. He looked down at his feet then turned to the house, the entire front wall of the bungalow clear glass. Sleek edged furnishings decorated the inside. Stark paint tinged the walls of the otherwise colorless abode. Inside, Shepard called for Miranda and explored the three room bungalow.

Chilled air brushed his bared feet and hands and Shepard walked through the closed door at the end of the corridor. Inside, the XO Normandy office. The lights dimmed low, Miranda twisted at the waist beside the bed, her back to the door as she zipped up her honeycombed catsuit. Sheets lay rumpled on the bed, untucked at one corner. Leaning over slightly, she adjusted the side of one of her boots then tugged on the waist to straighten the fabric. He smiled and wordless closed the distance between them, slipping his hands over her hips.

She jumped at the contact but laughed and twisted to look back over her shoulder. With a shake of the head, she turned in his arms and met his kiss with eager greeting, her hands cupping his cheeks. Easing back after the moment, she spoke, her lips moving though no sound came out. As if knowing the words, Shepard just chuckled and teasingly eased her back towards the bed. She pressed her hands into his chest, offering a half hearted warning. He kissed her again; a slow and searing embrace, he released her mouth and nibbled a trail down her throat. She murmured in his ear and he smiled at the suggestion.

She sat, fingers tickling down his chest as she tugged at his belt. The lighting changed in the room, brightening as warning alarms on the wall flashed, and spun. She frowned and stilled her task then pushed him back by the hips. Rushing to the door, she grabbed her pistol from her desk. Shepard followed.

The door opened; war erupted.

Mortars descended upon a scarred and burning planet with whistling crescendos. Buildings crumbled, fires burning the remnants. Blackened char marred the bark of trees, their leaves scorched and blowing through the air as flakes of ash. Corpses littered the ground; soldiers in armor held positions unsuccessfully as swarms of husks overwhelmed them in waves. Shepard crouched low and rushed to a fallen stone pillar, diving behind for cover.

Miranda followed, quickly pressing against the pillar beside him. Screams of innocents rang through the city park. Collectors trapped civilians in stasis then placed them in cocoon-like pods. Shepard peered over the top of the pillar then ducked low again and met Miranda’s eyes. Sharing a moment of worry and camaraderie, he leaned towards her and captured her lips in a searing kiss goodbye.

She cupped his cheek, matching his desperation. When the kiss broke, he growled intensely. “Stay close.” Nodding her agreement, she readied her pistol and pulsed with biotics. He set the clip firmly into his rifle and pulled the butt into his shoulder. Swinging the gun around, he emerged from cover and pressed into the firefight. Aiming down the barrel of his rifle at an approaching husk, he pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He jerked on the trigger again, attempting to force the gun to fire. Four husks neared and Shepard dropped the rifle, pulling the shotgun from his back. Gripping the stock tightly he jammed it against the husk’s head. He punched the second and slammed an armored elbow into the third. The fourth husk leapt and Shepard leaned back, catching the decayed and twisted human corpse then tossed it to the ground. Aiming the shotgun, he pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Growling his frustration, he stomped his heel onto the husk’s head. Blood splattered at the impact, the skull bursting under the power of his boot, coating his armor and spotting his face. He wiped the residue from his lips with his fingers, shaking out the hand as he looked around his surroundings.

Silence lingered, the sounds of war gone. The fires dimmed and extinguished replaced with smoking and smoldering rubble. The distinct scents of burning metal, scorched flesh and wood lingered then overwhelmed him. No husks, no enemies, no birds, no people.

“Miranda!” he called out and crossed through the rubble back to the area he last saw her. He called her name again, looking left then right in an attempt to find her. Rattling and rhythmic metallic clacking sounded in the distance. He jogged towards the sound however his pace moved slowly. He pushed harder, trying to run and yet he moved no faster.

Finally reaching the road’s end, he turned the corner and paused. Giant metallic spikes pierced the streets, extending thirty feet into the sky and impaled upon each, a body. A forest of Dragon’s teeth blanketed the roads with each victim in various stages of conversion – evolution. Bodies hung limply, face bared to the sky as organic and synthetic slowly merged.

He weaved through the giant spikes, eyes on the corpses and he soon stopped, swallowing hard as he recognized the body hanging and Joker’s hauntingly vacant face staring back at him. Shaking his head quickly, he turned away and looked to another spike and Dr. Chakwas almost fully transformed, her eyes glowing blue.

Blood swirled down the next spike in spiraled patterns. Shepard touched his finger tips to the dried blood coating the metallic spike. Atop the spike, Miranda Lawson’s limp body, her mouth opened in silent cry, eyes blank and lifeless. Blood stained her white suit and the spike sizzled with electrical current, forcing the synthesis between synthetic and organic. Roaring with rage, he punched an armored fist into the joint connecting the spike with the contraptions base. The spike shuddered but remained.

His fingers quickly slid over the top of the base, searching for some trigger to lower the spike as he previously witnessed. The spike spun forty-five degrees then descended into the base, finally disappearing. Miranda’s body lay bent back over the base, pierced through the torso. Her features twisted, gnarled and corrupted but he recognized her. Whispering her name, he reached for her.

The body lurched, a deafening high pitch shrill ringing from its throat as it rolled off the base and turned to him. Shepard stepped back, swallowed hard. “Miranda,” he instinctively raised his gun, pointing the pistol at the husk. Miranda’s body contorted, head tilted fully onto its shoulder as it leaned towards him, arms extended and shrieked again. It lunged.

He couldn’t pull the trigger and the husk of Miranda’s body slammed into him, sinking cold metallic fingers into his neck as it tore the flesh from his throat.

Shepard’s eyes opened and he blinked twice, staring up at a darkened metal ceiling, swirling serpentine piping following a flowing pattern from one wall to the other. His breath raced and fabric clung to his sweaty legs. Lying on his back, he swallowed the nausea rising to his throat. He lifted up, resting on his elbows as he looked around the room, taking in the familiar sight of Miranda Lawson’s private office. Sighing with relief, he sat up fully and planted his heels into the bed, draping his arms over his knees. He ducked his head and closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind and rid his memory of the vivid nightmare.

Miranda stirred as the bed shifted and she stretched her legs, pointing her toes as she peered back over her shoulder at the man behind her. Shifting onto her back, she reached out, splaying a palm on his lower back. He tensed at the touch then exhaled and leaned back into her touch. Her thumb brushed the flesh as her fingers pressed into the muscles along his spine.

Shepard twisted at the waist and reached for the sheets covering her body. He tossed them down, exposing her and with a deep sigh, he stretched out on his side, propped up on an elbow as his free hand rested on her abdomen. Without asking permission, he pushed her shirt up to just below her breasts and traced his fingers over the smooth skin of her stomach. Her fingers slid through his shortly cropped hair at his intimate gesture.

His eyes searched her stomach, reassuring himself of her safety, a ridiculous need considering his conscious awareness of the nightmare. Licking his parched and dried lips, he kissed the flattened flesh of her stomach, fingers toying with the band of her low cut panties.

Miranda’s breath hitched, air sucked sharply in between her teeth and she scratched the base of his skull at the hairline; he growled. She hummed, shifting at the attention. His lips pursed again, savoring her. She asked nothing of him but instead soothed, a single hand stroking his hair then his shoulders.

Pillowing his head on her stomach, he gazed down the long length of her body, the smooth and curved lines of her legs and the sensuous contours of her hips. When she continued to stroke his hair, he toyed with the lace band on her lower abdomen. He relished the silence, the calming rhythm of her heart, the gentle touch.

Finally, she spoke, her voice deep from sleep, slightly husked, “As nice as this is, it’s cold.”

He smiled at the teasing tone and nuzzled her stomach affectionately, his day old stubble scratching the perfectly smooth skin. Reaching down, he grabbed the sheet and pulled it back up to her hips, draping it gently. Gazing up into her eyes, he searched her expression. “Sorry. I just needed to … feel, I guess.” At her understanding nod, he tickled along her waist. “So just nice?”

She arched a brow and smirked slyly. “Tolerable.”

He chuckled and shook his head, eyes downcast on her abdomen. “Tolerable. You’re hard to please.”

“I expect the best,” her tone flirtatious as she tickled her fingers along the back of the shell of his ear.

“The best huh? Pretty high standards.” Shrugging casually, he shifted on the bed and stretched out on his back, staring at the darkened metallic ceiling. “Good thing I’m the perfect human specimen.” After a minute of silence, he glanced to his side, curious. Had she fallen asleep?

Miranda lay on her side, facing him. Icy eyes observed him with inquisitive intelligence as she tucked her arm under her head, pillowing on the crook of her elbow. Shepard noticed the expression often, usually when she gauged situations, like scanning a battlefield or making a judgment about an individual. Always perceptive, she came to a decision faster than most and often stubbornly clung to her belief – right or wrong. As the months passed aboard the Normandy, Miranda changed; Liara was right.

Situations, once black and white and clearly defined became grey just as she had admitted and yet the grey proved confusing. She still quickly judged yet waivered when evidence or opinion challenged her own. Not to suggest that she changed views so easily, but that she opened herself to other possibilities, solutions and a deeper, less clear resolution to situations. She struggled initially, vehemently defending her beliefs and her stance no matter its extremes or rashness. Often, Shepard conceded, she was right. He found her quick impulse trustworthy and soon followed her advice more often than not, especially when faced with unfamiliar situations. He trusted her intuition, her judgment.

Her stark stances with no room for sway proved more difficult to adopt with sensitive political situations or when trying to forge alliances through coddled egos. Miranda never coddled. She never could forge and maintain the team aboard the Normandy. Within Cerberus, she demanded respect and due to her position, few resisted or openly defied her. She kept a vast collection of contacts from various cultures, species and systems. But to maintain those contacts was far simpler than keeping peace aboard the ship.

She admitted a jealousy at his ability to lead and motivate, though she refused to use the exact words. She struggled with an identity, attempting to explain her abilities, intelligence and successes without honoring her father’s exacting input on her genetic code. No words alleviated her insecurity. He arched a brow at her searching stare. “What?” he questioned, probing her and trying to force the question resting on her lips – a question he knew she refused to ask. She prided herself on her ability to read a person; he enjoyed challenging that ability.

“Nothing,” she quickly responded and though her expression remained searching, she asked nothing.

He tucked his arms behind his head, turning his eyes to the ceiling and focusing on a random bolt as if to give the impression of thought. “You know, most people would just ask me what I was thinking. Or what was wrong.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“Just stressed,” he answered cryptically. He wiggled his toes and pointed them, stretching out the muscles of his legs. She eased closer to him, lifting up a little and pillowed her head on his shoulder, resting a hand on the center of his chest. Surprised at the gesture, he lowered his arm closest her and wrapped it around her torso, hand splayed on her hip. He tightened his hold, possessive. “We’ll be there soon,” he finally said deeply, absently. “Boarding a derelict Reaper. And as if that wasn’t insane enough, we’re taking a piece of it to bring back onto the Normandy.”

She hummed, nodding her agreement. “It does seem madness follows you everywhere.”

A corner of his lip tweaked with a smile and his hand rubbed her hip in slow and absent comfort. “Yeah. It does. And we’re gonna do this.” He stated confidently then quieted before adding. “It’s what you have to believe. You believe you will succeed. That’s how people get behind you, follow you to the gates of hell.”

“Your rally cry,” she whispered, fingers slipping and combing through the bristled hair on his chest. “You’re a born leader, Shepard, whether you want this responsibility or not. It doesn’t matter now. It fell on you and you’ve carried it better than anyone else I could think of. I don’t accept failure and I would not be here with you if I thought we would fail. We will succeed because there is no other option.”

“I know. To fail means we die. And I don’t know about you but I sure as hell am not ready to die yet.”

She shook her head, her hair soft against the skin of his bared shoulder. “No. No I’m not.” Her eyes closed and she exhaled slowly, sinking into him. She didn’t ask about his nightmare, didn’t pry or try to pull anything from him he didn’t offer freely. “We’ll be there soon. You should try to get some more sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” he responded coldly and the fine muscles along his jaw tensed.

Her fingers trace patterns on his chest, toying with the hair. She stared at her fingers in thought then confessed. “I dreamt of my sister a few nights ago. She was at a colony and I was there as well, why I have no idea. And the Collector’s came. I watched them, frozen in stasis as they placed her in a pod and took her to their ship. Her eyes on mine. And I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t save her.” She sat up and stared down at him with wavering strength. “It’s only a matter of time. If it’s not the Collectors, it’s the Reapers or my father.” She sighed. “I can’t protect her here.”

“We’re helping her now by going after the Collectors.” He reached up, slipping a hand along her cheek to cup her jaw. “And after the Collectors, we’ll protect her by going after the Reapers. Or we can go to her and hide her again, make sure your father can’t find her.”

She tilted her head into his palm, holding his eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that. You have so much more to do.” Resolved, she backed away from his touch and lay on her back, distancing herself again. “If we even make it back from the Relay.”

“We’ll make it back.”

“You don’t know that,” she shot back.

“No, I don’t.” He admitted and turned onto his side, pillowing his head in his hand to watch her. “I saw you impaled on one of those spikes. Like I saw on Eden Prime where the geth were turning people into husks. I couldn’t save you from it.” He brushed his finger tips down her arm, starting at her shoulder then down to her elbow. “You were a husk. And I couldn’t stop you when you attacked me. It was just so vivid, you know?”

“The dreams we remember always are,” Miranda turned her back to him as he moved closer, and she settled back into his chest when he pressed to her, his arm draped over her waist. Her fingers slipped along his; she gripped his hand. “Don’t let them take me, Shepard. Collectors, Reapers, Geth. I would put my own pistol to my head before letting them turn me into one of those creatures. Indoctrinated and a shell of myself.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he replied softly.

“If you cared, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

He tightened his hold, molding to her as the haunting words hung between them. “I want you at my side,” he said deeply in her ear. “But to put you at risk … bringing you on board that derelict Reaper. One of us needs to be alive. You should stay here on the bridge.”

“You’ve been using that excuse for months. It’s getting old,” she stated flatly, muscles tense defensively.

“It’s not an excuse.” He pledged intensely. “I’m protecting you.”

She hummed. “Mmm, I see. And who will protect you?” She peered over her shoulder at him. “You realize there will come a time when you are just going to have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” he rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. “I trust you with this crew, the ship. To keep them safe. To run everything from here while I’m not on board.” He released her hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Plus, you’ll be in my head. The cameras, the earpiece. You’ll be right there with me.”

“Who will you bring then?” her head shifted at his touch, shaking slightly to rid the hair from her eyes.

“Garrus,” he answered without hesitation. “He’s been everywhere with me. Hell and back a few times. I trust him. And probably Tali. She was with me nearly every time I was planet side before.”

“Arrival in two hours, Commander,” EDI announced over the intercom.

“Thank you, EDI,” Shepard said but still held Miranda, didn’t release her.

She arched a brow, curious and shifted against him. “I believe that means we get up now.”

“Give me a minute,” he said, eyes closed as he held her. Her scent lingered, the comfort of her and the warmth of the bed. He memorized every aspect of her – the feel, the scent, the sensation. He wanted to remember, keep it filed away. Savoring the moment, he finally released her; she was gone, the bed shifting as she stood.


	22. Chapter 22

Shepard placed his gauntlets on the desk in his cabin then adjusted the straps holding his greaves to his thighs. Tugging on the collar of his breast plate, he turned and sat in the comfortable swiveling chair. He spun to face the console for his terminal. Tapping a few fingers, he accessed the security cameras. Leaning back in his chair, he tapped a single finger on one point of the console, scrolling through the various displays.

Samara sat cross legged on the floor of her observation deck, a blue and white aura pulsing around her form. Her wrists rested upon her knees, fingers gently touching, pinched in relaxed meditation.

A few crew members gathered in the mess hall, sitting around the table in comfortable camaraderie. Quiet initially, their eyes focused to a point off camera. Shepard tapped the button; Miranda stood behind the counter, pouring a cup of steaming coffee into her stainless steel mug. She ignored the stares of the crew and simply continued her mundane task. Grabbing a dried wheat bar from the serving counter, she retreated to her office.

Tension in the room alleviated at her departure. One male tech stood and laughed, “Thought she’d never leave.” He stepped over the bench to sit at the table. “You know, I’m starting to think we can actually do this.”

The electronics engineer at the table shook his head. “Not me. I know we all signed on for this, but I didn’t do it thinking we were coming back alive.”

“Are you kidding?” The tech laughed. “Have you seen what the commander can do? And look at all the help we’ve got. We’re gonna be lucky if we even get to see the collectors.”

“Hope you’re right.”

Shepard cycled through additional security channels. Garrus fiddled with the settings of the Normandy’s main weapon system. Exhaling a frustrated sigh, he scratched the chafing skin on the back of his neck. Abandoning the console, he stalked up the three metallic stairs and sat at the work bench to modify his assault rifle.

Jack lounged on the cot in the bowels of the engine room, one foot planted heavily on the edge of the bed for balance as she leaned against the cool metal wall of the ship. She tossed a handball to the wall opposite her cot; the ball bounced off the wall then off the center point of the floor before flying back to Jack’s awaiting hand. She caught the ball with ease and threw it again, soothed by the rhythmic thumping.

Upstairs in the engineering bay, Tali configured the core of the engine, pausing on occasion when the pulsing ball’s rhythm pierced her focused concentration. When the thumping ceased, she sighed in relief. “I thought that bosh’tet would never stop.”

The rhythm started again. “You shouldn’t have said anything,” Engineer Daniels commented, exasperated. “She probably heard you.”

“She’ll keep doin’ it now until you say somethin’,” Donnelly added.

“She’ll be lucky if all I do is ‘say something’,” Tali threatened.

Inside the executive officer’s quarters, Miranda carefully sipped the hot coffee from the metal insulated mug. She placed the mug on her desk before addressing the hologram of the Illusive Man. “We will be in range within the hour.”

“Excellent,” the Illusive man hissed, exhaling a swirling pillar of smoke. “I want you on the shore party for this mission. There is sensitive and important information you are to retrieve. The researchers were close to discovering key clues about how the Reaper indoctrination works. You must bring that information back; it cannot be lost.”

“Shepard has already chosen his shore team,” Miranda answered, calmly. “Garrus and the quarian, Tali, are going with him. I will do what I can to remotely download any information.”

The Illusive Man inhaled a long and heavy drag from the stumped cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. “Interesting but not surprising. Let me be clear. You will accompany Shepard onto the Reaper. You will download all research. You will immediately forward everything to me directly. Are we understood?”

With the slightest tension, she inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Sir.”

The Illusive man snuffed out his cigarette, twisting the end to extinguish it. “Without that information, we cannot combat the Reaper indoctrination effect. And if you don’t come back from the Omega 4 relay, it may be humanity’s only chance against an army of Reapers. I’m sure you now see things with renewed clarity, Miranda. I expect to hear from you within twenty four hours.” The feed disconnected.

Miranda stared at the vacated space of the hologram display as she absently brushed the backs of her fingers over her lower lip in thought. Shepard leaned back in his chair and turned off the display for the security feeds. What exactly was happening on that derelict Reaper and what was the ulterior motive of the Illusive man?

Over the course of his career, Shepard faced a colorful array of political power hungry moguls who desired nothing more than their own advancement. The same ambition dwelled in many fields: military, business, religions even criminal. He didn’t begrudge the Illusive Man the desire for power, for control, and recognition. Shepard gladly accepted the role of Spectre and relished in the freedom his post and influence brandished. Mistakenly, he believed avenues and choices would become available that were previously closed and off limits.

There was always someone pulling the strings. For Shepard, the list started with his parents and continued to the Alliance Military, culminating in the alien council. Currently, he answered to the Illusive Man – whether he liked it or not. So who pulled the Illusive Man’s strings?

Investors, likely. The money came from somewhere and those selective and anonymous sponsors expected results, results Cerberus easily supplied since its installation years ago. Though the Illusive man’s investors pulled strings and held weight, finance was not his motivation. Perhaps, the Illusive man genuinely believed in the protected advancement of human interests in the galaxy. Or the somewhat admirable position was merely a front for a more sinister drive – a drive for power.

Where did Miranda fit into the scheme? Was she an idealist, pursuing human galactic interests or was she dedicated to a more dictatorial cause, embracing the shady ambitions of her boss? Miranda’s intricate workings eluded Shepard and he sometimes questioned his desire to trust her. Originally, he considered his blind trust a physical reaction to her sensuality but as time passed, that doubt faded. Physical beauty hid twisted intentions for only a short time.

Tightening the leg straps of his greaves, Shepard shifted his weight then lifted his knees to his chest, testing his mobility. Tapping the communications device on the console of his computer station, he directed his call. “Garrus, you almost ready?”

“Just have a few more calibrations,” Garrus responded. “Why, what do you have in mind?”

“A bit of easy fun,” Shepard replied with a small grin. “You know, boarding a derelict Reaper to fetch a piece and bring it back onto the Normandy.”

“Oh, so your standard mission.”

Shepard laughed. “Yeah, you can say that.”

“I’ll be in the hangar in fifteen minutes. After I finish these calibrations.”

+++

In the communications room of the command center, Miranda swiped her fingers across the holographic keyboard to remove the flickering visual of the Normandy and replaced it with the known schematics of the derelict reaper. Jacob pressed both palms onto the waist-level floating counter surrounding the three-dimensional diagram. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he commented. “We’ve got to go on there to retrieve the records? There has got to be a way to get them remotely.”

“That can’t be guaranteed,” Miranda replied. “We need the intel. If the scientists were indoctrinated by a derelict reaper, perhaps we can find the evidence and use it to counter similar situations in the future. This war doesn’t end when the Collectors are defeated. The collectors are only the beginning.”

“Damn, I know that.” Jacob said with a slight shake of the head. After a lengthy pause of deliberation, he nodded. “You and me, huh?”

“The fewer, the better,” Miranda said and tapped three keys of the keyboard before touching a fourth. “There were 150 scientists on board that vessel and if they are all indoctrinated …” she trailed off then glanced towards Jacob, meeting his eyes. “There’s no telling what we will have to face on that ship. And Shepard makes a lot of noise.”

“So you’re thinking they’ll all go after him.”

“Yes. He can’t be somewhere for five minutes before something explodes. I’m counting on that to draw them away from where we are going.” Another two taps of the buttons and Miranda stepped back from the console, watching as a green directional line appeared on the diagram. On the outer exterior of the vessel, the green formed a pulsing sphere. “That is the access point, likely our best bet to get our information and to put Shepard closest to the core. According to the Illusive Man, the IFF is there. Shepard will be following the green path into the ship or at least somewhere along that line.” She touched a single button; a yellow directional line appeared. “That is where we will go.”

Jacob crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “It takes us the opposite direction. Not far though. What is that, about five hundred meters?”

“If that,” Miranda responded. “That path takes us to the main security point. There is a mainframe or master server there and hopefully is still intact. We can extract any files – vids, journals, messages, anything.”

“And what if there’s nothing there?”

“Then we get the hell off.”

After her reply, Jacob paused, mentally scanning the image. His military training to the forefront, he judged the odds, the chances of survival. Slim – as usual. “Alright, I’m on board. But mostly cuz I know you’d go anyway even if I said ‘Hell No’.”

The corner of her lip lifted, hinting at a grin. “You know me all too well, Jacob.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say I’m used to it by now. So when do we dock?”

“In the next ten minutes. Get what you need and meet me in the shuttle bay.” She answered and waited for Jacob to leave. She activated her omni-tool, waving the instrument over the panel of the countertop and downloaded the full map and schematics of the derelict ship. With two clicks and a swipe, the diagram cleared from the main terminal.

+++

“Shepard, we need to talk.”

Commander Shepard turned from his place beside the prepped shuttle to spot his executive officer striding confidently into the bay. Dressed for combat in a dark leather skin tight suit, she touched her ear, just at the hairline to activate an orange tinted visor. The holographic visor extended from ear to ear over her eyes. Shepard addressed the two squad mates beside him – both armed and ready for battle. “Meet me on the shuttle.”

Garrus nodded and stepped up into the shuttle. Tali hesitated a moment to stare at Miranda before following Garrus, commenting. “I’ll give her points for persistence.”

Shepard left his squad mates to approach Miranda. “What are you doing? I asked you to stay on the bridge.”

Miranda remained silent until she stood before him – proud and confident, as always. “I need to get onto that Reaper.”

He blocked her path, holding her intense gaze. “For what?”

“Intel.”

His brow lifted in surprise at her honesty, though the act invisible to her from behind the heavily tinted front plate of his helmet. He played ignorant. “Intel?”

“It was a Cerberus vessel,” she continued quietly. “If the 150 scientists on board were indoctrinated, we need to know how and how long it took. It could be vital to our war effort going forward. Perhaps we can even find a way to counteract the effects.”

“I can gather that intel on the way.” He offered.

She shook her head. “You can’t. The security terminals are in the opposite direction of where you will be going. The least amount of time on that ship is the best and you know it. Split up, I can get the intel and you can recover the IFF. Jacob is coming with me; we intend to infiltrate.” When he remained quiet, she added. “You cannot stop me.”

“Oh, I can stop you,” he answered.

“But you won’t,” she countered confidently. “Because you know I’m right.”

After twenty unnerving seconds, Shepard muttered a curse. “God damn it. Alright. Stay in radio contact at all times. And take someone else. Kasumi. She moves light and fast and is almost always invisible.”

“Fine,” Miranda said then activated her communication unit. “EDI, could you ask Kasumi to meet me in the shuttle bay, ready to board the Reaper ship?”

“Message delivered,” EDI replied. “Her response was, ‘You bet your sweet ass.’ Bet on what? There was no offer of a wager and I do not have a corporal form.”

“It’s a phrase, EDI,” Shepard said. “It basically means, Yes. It’s not literal.”

“I see,” EDI answered. “I will add the phrase to my catalog. Thank you, Commander.”

Shepard watched the entry way to the shuttle bay. “And under one more condition. Any information you discover is also forwarded to the Alliance.”

“What?” Miranda frowned, taken aback by the request. “Whatever for? Cerberus is not in the business of sharing our information with Alliance brass.”

“Because they’re going to be fighting Reapers too. And if humanity is going to survive, we are all on a need-to-know.” At her silence, he continued. “Look, I’m not telling you to broadcast it on the Alliance News Network. Just forward it to Anderson. You can switch it through however many back-hacked channels you want or whatever it is you have to do so it cannot be traced. But that is my condition. When you come back, you will send a copy to Anderson or Admiral Hackett. I don’t care which.”

Internal debate raging, Miranda offered a silent nod to his request. Shepard acknowledged her response with a nod as well then looked up as Jacob and Kasumi entered the bay. “That’s it?” Miranda questioned. “You don’t need proof? You don’t want to do it yourself?”

“No.” Shepard answered calmly then met her gaze. “Because I trust you. You’ll do the right thing.” He turned from her and entered the shuttle.

+++

As the shuttle carefully docked to the derelict reaper, Miranda adjusted the thermal clip band around her waist. She grabbed another two clips from the on-board weapons locker and secured them to the bands at the tops of her thigh-high boots – flats this time for speed and silence. “I just need about a five minute head start.”

Shepard braced his left forearm against the extended metallic surfacing of the side, feet staggered for balance. “I don’t like it, Miranda.”

She arched a perfectly plucked brow. “And you think I do? Believe me, the last place I want to be is on board this ship.”

“Think I’d rather be on that collector ship again, personally,” Jacob added with muffled admission.

“I’m sure that if any of us had a choice, a real choice, we would not choose this place right now.” Miranda responded. Focused and slightly withdrawn, she clicked the pistol into the holster at her waist and gripped the vertical handlebar at the entrance hatch, awaiting clearance to exit.

Shepard watched her with trepidation then addressed Jacob and Kasumi. “Move fast and light. Get what you need and get back. Hold the shuttle entrance for us. If it gets too hot, too dangerous, pull back. Get the hell out of here.”

“Commander,” Jacob said.

“I don’t want any arguments,” Shepard interrupted before Jacob finished his thought. “That’s an order.”

“Sir,” Jacob saluted, face severely stoic and serious. He lowered the visor of his helmet. There was no need for oxygen tanks as the life support inside the Reaper was still active.

“Is that understood?” Shepard addressed Kasumi then looked over his shoulder at Miranda.

“Understood, Commander.” The XO replied, professionally.

The shuttle rocked as docking completed. At the entrance way, Shepard held the door closed, eyes intensely focused on Miranda. “Five minutes.”

+++

Pistol drawn, Miranda moved quickly and carefully down the long corridor leading from the shuttle into the station. Feet light, eyes focused ahead, she stepped over coiled piping. Kasumi – invisible as usual – scouted ahead and flickered into sight at the door twenty meters in front. Jacob cocked his shotgun, cautious. None spoke. Kasumi opened the door within twenty seconds and disappeared again as the three slipped inside.

Discolored brown blood smeared the walls inside the door and a rotted disfigured corpse lay against the opposite wall, its limbs contorted and twisted, a mouth-like feature open in silent agony. Miranda swallowed, controlled and turned her gaze to the left, away from the sight and into the elongated room.

“That ain’t right,” Jacob whispered the thought that no other would speak; the team moved forward. He explored the small laboratory. Miranda peered into a microscope as Kasumi activated a video terminal. At the disembodied voice, Miranda turned from the microscope to watch the short video journal.

“The airlock has been installed at the far end of the holed section. We have begun pressurizing for shirtsleeves work.” The well-dressed individual began with voice low and steady but quiet. “The crew is edgy. I reassure them it is mere nerves. A superstitious reaction to what this hulk represents … the corpse of a vast ancient life form. Privately, I can’t deny the atmosphere. The angles of the walls seem to press down on you.” The man leaned closer to whisper to the video recording. “I find myself clenching my teeth.” The video ended.

“Is there a date on it?” Miranda asked.

Kasumi nodded. “Yes, a date of saved recording. It doesn’t appear he states it. That is all that is here though. The terminal has been badly damaged.”

“Get what you can,” Miranda stated.

Jacob shook his head. “He’s right. Something ain’t right here. I can feel it. On the back of the neck, ya know?”

“I agree,” Miranda said and continued down the corridor where another work log activated.

A different individual spoke. “We finished cataloging specimens A203 to B016. No evidence of active nano technology noted. Dr. Chandana believes they would have decayed over the last 37 million years. There’s not enough data to support his claim. He asserts that the truth is “patently obvious”. I am … concerned. Chandana has been staring at the samples for hours. He says he’s “listening” to them.” The feed died.

“Listening to them,” Jacob repeated. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Miranda replied. “Kasumi get that as well, anything you can from that terminal.” As Kasumi extracted the data, Miranda pulled up the schematics of the ship on her omnitool. “This isn’t the right door. Damn it, these schematics are wrong.” She stepped away from the two crewmates, following the wall and comparing it with the location transmitter of her omni-tool within the reaper schematics. She stopped near the microscopes and faced the wall. “Through there. The schematics claim there is a path here but I don’t …” she trailed off and looked upwards, her eyes fell on the ventilation shaft fifteen feet off the ground.

“Oh hell no. Ducts again?” Jacob commented.

“Could be worse,” Kasumi offered. “At least it looks spacious. There could be rats. That would be worse. Cramped and rats”

“Indoctrinated rats,” Jacob said. “That would be worse.”

“We have to get up,” Miranda stated, drawing attention back to the task. “Kasumi, if we get you on top of that bracing there can you get the grate off?”

“Of course,” Kasumi strode towards the counter hip-high along the wall. “You don’t even have to ask.” She stepped up onto the counter and motioned Jacob towards her with a single finger. “Let’s put those muscles to good work.”

Jacob approached her, holstering his shotgun at the small of his back as he intertwined his fingers, cupping his hands together. When Kasumi placed a foot into the cup, he lifted with ease, extending his arms upward. The thief sprung from his hand with ultimate grace and pulled herself up onto the high crossbeam. Using the tools from her utility belt, Kasumi carefully removed the first bolt at the top left corner.

Shepard entered as Kasumi worked on the third bolt. Miranda stood near the counter, ready. Kasumi handed down the grate as Shepard approached. “I’m going to scout ahead,” Kasumi said and activated her cloak, disappearing into the duct before either Miranda or Jacob could utter a response.

“Hey,” Shepard called and lowered his shotgun as he approached. “What happened? I thought you said you were just going the opposite way?”

“We are,” Miranda answered and holstered her pistol. “The schematics were wrong, we have to go through the vents.” She touched Jacob’s shoulder and he bent at the knees, cupping his hands again to give the Operative a lift. “It’ll be fine, Shepard,” she said confidently. “We won’t leave the vents unless we can easily get back into them. I want this intel, but it’s not worth my life.” She launched off of Jacob’s hands and gripped the support beam of the room then swung herself level with the duct. She glanced down at Shepard and Jacob then reached down. “Do you need a hand?”

“Nah, I’ll have the Commander help me up.” Jacob looked to Shepard. “Ya mind, sir?”

“Not at all,” Shepard replied and watched as Miranda stretched across the two foot gap and disappeared into the duct. He addressed Jacob quietly. “Don’t let her risk too much for this. I need you all back on the Normandy if we are going to get through this whole thing alive.”

“Yes, sir,” Jacob answered with a curt nod. “I won’t let you down. And Miranda, don’t underestimate her.”

“I don’t,” Shepard cupped his hands and bent his knees, bracing for Jacob’s weight. “Just humor me, alright?” When Jacob planted his foot into the Commander’s hands, Shepard stood from his squat pushing upwards with his hands as Jacob sprung from the momentum and gripped the crossbeam. Jacob leapt from the beam and dove into the grate with a loud metallic crash.

Inside, Miranda crawled on hands and knees through the duct, her omni-tool active as she navigated the tunnels towards the crew quarters. The tunnels darkened and the ship grew silent except for the movement of the three. During sporadic occasions, a metallic creaking resounded, the ship settling then shifting within the gravity of the planet.

The ship lurched and Miranda lost her balance, crashing into the side of the duct and jarring her shoulder. The omni-tool flickered and disconnected the feed. Jacob’s shotgun slipped from his grip, sliding ten feet ahead and spinning to a stop by Miranda’s foot. The Operative activated her communication device. “Shepard, what the hell was that? Did you feel it?”

Shepard’s voice crackled in response. “Seems like an issue with the ship’s mass effect field. I’m going to have to shut it down.”

“What? Why?” Alarmed, she shook out her right arm and rolled her shoulder. She peered back over her shoulder at Jacob. Jacob crawled towards her and picked up his shotgun, securing it to the small of his back again.

“We won’t be able to leave if I don’t.” Shepard answered. “But once it’s off, the ship will start to fall into the planet. So get back to our extraction point ASAP and hold it, alright?”

“Understood, Commander,” she answered then after sure that Jacob was uninjured, continued forward. “Why can’t it ever be simple,” she muttered to herself.

“I heard that,” Shepard said, amused.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. Just be careful.”

“You too,” He replied and the communications silenced.

“I see an exit ahead,” Kasumi said through the communications device. “Our exit is low, ground level. Looks like a hallway. Can’t see much through the grating. I’m going out for a look.”

“Wait,” Miranda whispered. “We don’t know if that’s the right grate.”

“Right, which is why I’m going to look.” Kasumi said then playfully reprimanded. “Keep up, Miranda.”

Miranda shook her head, moving quicker through the ducts to catch up with Kasumi. Jacob matched her pace and every so often, glanced behind him to ensure nothing followed them through the tunnel. They emerged into a long corridor, narrow with doors on either side, placed approximately every thirty feet.

“Looks like a dormitory or something,” Jacob said softly and drew his shotgun. “How long did it take them to build this into a reaper?”

“It had to take months,” Miranda answered. “Who knows how long this project has been going on … and with how many different cells.”

“You don’t think it could have been that long, do you?”

Miranda shrugged. “I was so busy with the Lazarus project, I was out of touch with the rumors within Cerberus. I knew of some cells, but certainly not all. Rumors, of course. This is the first I’ve heard of this one.”

The ship creaked, metal shifting then silence. Eerie, haunting and empty, the ship floated in orbit. Dead. Stagnant and still air surrounded her, pressing upon the lungs with a stale weight. The walls and floors clean, showing no signs of struggle or violence. Every door was closed within sight. Miranda turned left and walked; her footfall was the only sound. She waved her hand over the nearest door … locked.

Jacob tried the door opposite … locked. “I’d bet the rest are locked too.”

“And … you would be right,” Kasumi appeared beside Jacob and motioned down the hallway. “I tried at least ten of them. All locked. Whatever happened on this ship didn’t happen here. It’s kind of like a mystery.” She paused then added. “Not one I necessarily want to solve. But a mystery, nonetheless.”

Miranda tapped her fingers along her omni-tool to examine the layout of the facility again. “We need to keep going down the hallway. At the end is a Tee and we need to take a left.” Without waiting for a response, she stepped down the hallway.

At the end of the elongated corridor, light flickered, flashing on then off then on again. Kasumi slowed her pace. “Ok … creepy.”

Miranda paused, Jacob beside her. She drew the sidearm from its holster on her hip and checked the magazine. With a silent nod, she cued Jacob to take the point. Steady and careful, the trio progressed and stepped into the darkened corridor. Jacob sniffed. “It smells like death here.” He stopped at the intersection of two corridors, peering one way then the next. When clear, he focused on a darkened puddle on the floor. No tracks led to or from the puddle. Frowning, he knelt down and touched the liquid. Bringing his fingers to his nose, he sniffed. “Blood. But from where?”

Miranda examined the immediate area. Kasumi looked up. “Uhm … that’s interesting.”

Jacob and Miranda looked up as well. From the grating along the ceiling tiles, a circular red stain marred the metallic design. At the center, more congealed black and red liquid, a droplet hanging and dangling then it fell to the ground, dropping into the puddle on the floor. Jacob, palm flat, reached towards Miranda and pushed her back from the puddle. His eyes scanned the grating and he pointed to a section about three feet from the bloody one. Miranda nodded and as Jacob kept his eyes on the grating, Miranda and Kasumi lifted a crate and moved it beneath the grating Jacob indicated.

Jacob climbed onto the crate and pressed the barrel of his shotgun into the grating. He exhaled a breath, dispelling any nerves and took the offered small flashlight from Kasumi’s hand. Flicking the light on, he pressed harder with the barrel of the gun. As the pressure increased, the grate slowly lifted. He peered into the darkened ceiling area and shone the light. A four foot high tunnel with grating on top and bottom extended ahead of him, his light only illuminating the closest ten to fifteen feet before the light scattered too far, making the distance appear foggy.

Another shaky breath slipped passed his lips as he scanned the area and finally stilled the light on a heaping pile of flesh about five feet from his position. Mangled brown tissue clumped, nearly covering the grating – nothing distinguishable as to its origin. He swallowed down the nausea and bile rising to his throat but refused to look away, unwilling to let down his guard.

“What is it?” Miranda prompted.

Her voice broke the sickening revere and Jacob answered. “It’s a pile of flesh … I don’t know. It might be a person. What’s left of him.”

“How did it get there?” The Operative asked and peered back over her shoulder down the darkened corridor, the same direction as Jacob simply at floor-level.

“It must have been dragged,” Kasumi said. “Probably from elsewhere in the ship. We saw nothing here that looks like something or someone was pulled up nearby.”

Miranda pressed her fingers to her brow. “And here we were crawling through these ducts. Who knows what else is in those?”

“I don’t really want to think about it,” Jacob said and lowered the grate back into place then jumped down. “Come on. Let’s get what we need and get out of here.”

Without comment, the trio continued down the darkened corridor. The hull creaked again, rhythmic in its shifting in space though the sounds separated long enough to surprise with each shift. Pace slowed as footsteps quieted. A deafening bang resounded; the three jumped. Silence. Kasumi camouflaged. Miranda moved first, her pace quick down the corridor. At the doorway at the end of the hall, surrounded in darkness except for the light green lighting of the door panel, Miranda quickly entered her personal code. The door refused to open. “Hack it,” she ordered and without comment, Kasumi obeyed.

Jacob and Miranda stood guard, guns aimed down the hallway down which they came. Miranda squinted and pointed. “Look.” Near an emergency lighting fixture, the ceiling grating shifted, creaked then suddenly crashed to the ground. Miranda braced a foot behind her. “Kasumi, work faster.”

“I’m working as fast as I can,” Kasumi answered. “Cerberus protocols are difficult to hack. I need … another minute, minute thirty at most.”

“We may not have that,” Miranda whispered and pressed against the wall, hiding in the shadows. Jacob did the same. Neither shot but instead waited both knowing that drawing attention to themselves would only bring more gunfire, more enemies and a higher likelihood of death. From the grate, a limp husk covered in blood and torn apart at the stomach, missing a leg fell out of the opening. The figure landed sickeningly on the floor with a ‘plop’, remaining limbs flailed in multiple directions, bones broken and piercing the skin on the right side.

Miranda squeezed the handle of her pistol, willing her heart to slow and her breath to remain calm and rhythmic. Another figure emerged from the grate, a severely disfigured humanoid. A large flesh hump protruded from the back as the shoulders extended upwards and over the top of its head. It appeared nude, the flesh bulbous with sores, seeping blood and puss. Its small yellow eyes bulged and its jaw hung dislocated from the left side, gaping open.

The creature grabbed the husk’s ankle and lumbered down the hallway opposite the trio. Blood trailed the corpse. Another creature fell from the ceiling and screeched. As it stumbled to its feet, the first turned and dropped the corpse. It spread its arms and crouched forward, defensively.

Kasumi opened the door and slipped inside, Miranda and Jacob following, walking backwards so not to turn their backs on the creatures. The door closed.

Within the belly of the ship, a long catwalk extended perpendicular to the walk upon which they stood. The perpendicular grating walk ended far outside the line of sight to the left and the right. The room was a hollow cavern-like area with a ceiling over 100 feet high. Miranda proceeded down the small walkway to the main catwalk extending the length of the ship. She paused at the railing and gazed into the belly of the ship, dimly lit with emergency lighting and intricate blue bulbs. The blue bulbs were attached to a forest of dragon teeth. The spikes extended high and upon each, a human body was impaled.

“There’s gotta be at least forty of them.” Jacob whispered, awed and disgusted.

In well-masked horrified silence, Miranda forced her gaze away from the gruesome sight. She followed the path deeper into the ship and they finally arrived at the security terminal. A corpse lay on the floor, torn and shredded. Pieces of skin and flesh were scattered across the terminal keys. Swallowing down the sickening bile rising to her throat, Miranda lifted her chin and brushed away the chunks of flesh to clear the keys. A thumb, a piece of skull, an unidentifiable bit of organ. The pungent odor of rancid and rotting meat permeating the air and embedded in the nose; one even tasted the stench. Breaking the silence, Jacob gagged but kept his stomach contents down and spun on his heels to step out of the room. He exhaled slowly, his back to room as he stood guard in the hallway. Miranda steeled her will and her focus. “Kasumi, check the other terminals in the room.”

“Excellent, I’ll be starting with the one over there without the giblets, thank you.” Kasumi replied and though her tone held the usual teasing tone, it seemed forced.

“Just get everything as fast as possible. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

Once the data was gathered, Miranda stepped out of the security room with Kasumi behind her. The Cerberus operative looked down at her gloved hands. Though the fabric black, blood and bits covered the finger tips and splattered over the palms. The white strips around the knuckles and wrist were stained reddish brown. Rust. Ruined.

“Come on,” she said, coolly, still managing a semblance of control despite the horrid situation. She had a reputation to maintain, leader of this squad and second-in-command to the mission. Show no weakness, show only strength. Shepard never wavered. He stood fast. He was strong in the face of impossible odds and overwhelming strain.

“Miranda,” Shepard called through their communications device. “Get back to the evac. We’re making our final push in the next few minutes. We’ll need to extract ASAP.”

“On our way, Shepard,” Miranda answered then glanced over her shoulder at Jacob and Kasumi. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No need for a second request here.” Kasumi activated her camouflage and retraced her steps back towards the dimly lit corridor.

The corridor, previously abandoned, was now filled with various flesh-like creatures, some human-like and others severely deformed. Kasumi froze upon entry, eyes quickly scanning the corridor and she slipped carefully behind the nearest cover, a computerized console. Miranda and Jacob crouch low, no cover in sight. The flesh creatures stood still, frozen in place and unmoving. They swayed in a strange rhythmic back then forth motion, as if poised and waiting for some stimulus. None moved, none twitched, but simply swayed.

Miranda scanned the scene before her and eased onto her knees, slipping forward towards Kasumi, knowing her bootstep could give them away. Kasumi looked to the walls and then pointed upward at the ceiling grating which covered the full expanse of the hallway. Miranda looked up then shrugged, a question in her expression. How could they get up into the ceiling grating? It was too high off the ground and there was nothing they could use to climb.

Kasumi pointed to herself then towards the creatures. She displayed two sticky grenades on her belt to Miranda then acted as if throwing them. She pointed to Miranda and Jacob and used her fingers to mime the act of running. Kasumi pointed down the corridor then to the right with her thumb.

Miranda hesitated to respond but finally nodded her agreement. She slowly drew the pistol at her waist, gripped the hilt and watched the enemies at the end of the hallway. Kasumi activated her cloaking device and walked casually towards the gathered Cannibals and Husks. Creeping slowly but steadily, she bent and twisted her way through the mob. Standing behind a hulking Scion, Kasumi paused and slowly took one grenade from her belt.

At her back, two husks swayed, a haunting gasping sound escaping as if with a breath. The Scion, however, stood still, hunched over with its large flesh-filled sack pulsing like a heartbeat. Its skeleton severely disfigured and its arms hung low as if dislocated. The head jutted out at a perpendicular angle to the spine, its mouth agape. Kasumi carefully pressed the grenade to the fleshy pouch on the Scions back and quickly slipped away and further down the corridor.

Miranda lifted slightly, her stance poised to launch and run the moment the grenade exploded. Jacob slowly took the shotgun from his back and carefully placed an empty clip into the chamber, ready to take any heat from the weapon’s discharge. She willed her breath to steady, her heart to slow as she counted, waiting for the explosion.

The grenade exploded bursting the flesh sack on the back of the scion and tearing apart the husks nearby. The scion shrieked though the blast didn’t kill it. Cannibals rushed the husks and fell to their knees to feed. Those that could not reach the husks turned on the scion, tearing at the weeping flesh sack, ripping out parts to eat. Miranda burst from her cover and raced towards the creatures, Jacob on her heels. She charged her omni-tool, readying a powerful overcharge shock should the cannibals turn to attack them. Miranda passed them and Jacob ducked under the flailing Scion arm. The Scion’s weapon discharged as a Cannibal tore it from the Scion’s arm, detaching the weapon.

Miranda stopped at the duct entrance, panting as she aimed back down the corridor. Five cannibals followed them. “Go,” she commanded Jacob to go first through the duct and she fired once, then twice, then a third time. One cannibal jerked with each shot before its skull burst with the third shot and the creature crumbled to the ground. She discharged the clip, reloaded the gun then fired an overcharge shock at the four remaining. Three of them stilled, jerking with electrical shock at the attack; the fourth never slowed. She dove into the duct after Jacob and moved quickly through the maze.

The growling strangled sound of the cannibal followed her into the duct. Miranda kept pace, Jacob well ahead of her. He stopped and looked back then called her name. She heard the cannibal moving closer as it moved quicker through the duct than she could. When the creature grabbed her ankle, she didn’t panic but instead dropped to her elbows and kicked back with her free foot. She felt the connection, her foot sinking into the rotted flesh with a sickening suction-like sensation. The cannibal screamed but didn’t release her.

Miranda held back her alarm and fear as the cannibal pulled her back towards it. She tightened her hold on the pistol; she turned to face the cannibal, lifting her gun to fire. The cannibal’s hand abandoned her ankle with the pull and crawled over her, pinning the hand with her pistol to the duct. Panic seized Miranda and her biotics flared around her.

A gun fired feet from her and the cannibal’s head and shoulders burst, covering her in rotted flesh and blood. Miranda closed her eyes and spit to her right. She didn’t fight the hand that grabbed under her shoulder and pulled her out from under the dead cannibal. Jacob steadied her and looked at her face, inspecting her for wounds. “Did it bite you? Are you alright?”

“Let’s go,” she said, showing no outward reaction to what just happened. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Bits of flesh, bone and blood covered her face and the front of her chest, shoulders and arms. It coated her hair. She spit again, wiped her mouth and glared back down the corridor where the four other cannibals finally entered after fighting off the effects of her overcharge shock.

“You first.” Jacob said. “I’ll keep them back.”

“No, I’ve got this.” Miranda glared at the cannibals.

Jacob grabbed her arm and shook his head. “You’re more important than me. And don’t try to tell me anything different. I’ll be right behind you.”

She pointed in his face. “You better be.” Without another word, she quickened down the duct. She reloaded her pistol and kept her focus forward even when she heard Jacob fire his weapon. At the end, Miranda peered down the long drop to the floor where they first entered the duct system. Kasumi was pinned behind some boxes, firing at the doorway where the Normandy docked. Miranda’s biotics flared and she leapt out of the duct, her biotics slowing her fall – graceful. She landed with ease and took cover beside Kasumi.

“‘Bout time you got here,” Kasumi cracked and eyed the operative up then down. “What happened to you?”

“Cannibal.” Miranda peered over the canister acting as her cover and counted the enemies ahead. Seven.

“Huh. Hate to see what he looks like,” she lifted over the canister and fired three shots, taking down a Cannibal. She took cover again.

“Jacob is right behind me. I’ll keep these off of you. Can you rig that duct to explode when he’s out. We’re being followed,” Miranda ordered and took the submachine gun from her holster. She laid down a stream of fire, forcing the cannibals to take cover and the single scion to hold its place. It didn’t move but absorbed the fire, shuddering with the impact.

“Can do,” Kasumi activated her cloaking ability and began climbing towards the duct entrance.

Miranda fired another overcharge shock at the scion. The charge bounced to two other cannibals. As the cannibals shuddered with the electrocuting attack, Miranda aimed for their heads with her heavy pistol; she fired twice. The cannibals dropped.

“Commander, you have five minutes to get out of there!” Joker announced over the communications.

“With the Reaper ship’s core deactivated,” EDI explained, “it is no longer able to resist the gravitational pull of the planet around which it orbits.”

“Alright,” Shepard answered. “Miranda, are you at the extraction point?”

She peered up at the duct, lips parted as she breathed. The blood had dried on her, cracked and tight on her skin. She shook her head then reached up to brush the hair out of her eyes. “We’ll be ready. Just get back here.”

“On our way,” Shepard said. “We’ll need you to hack through the door we exited. The door had jammed after we entered.”

“Understood.” She said and glanced over the crate at the remaining enemies then sat down, eyes on the door she needed to hack. There was little cover, a desk and maybe a small alcove. But whoever cracked the door code would be in the open. “EDI, I need a countdown alert every fifteen seconds starting at the three minute mark.”

“Countdown will begin in one minute 36 seconds,” EDI announced.

Miranda threw a warp towards one of the cannibals, knowing it would start to rip the enemy in half and darted out from cover towards the back of the extraction zone. Cannibal gunfire erupted and she felt the bullets against her biotic shields. One pierced her at the shoulder, drawing blood. She muttered a curse and dove behind the desk near the door Shepard needed opened. She pulled a medi-gel from its storage on her belt and tore it open with her teeth then squeezed the cooling gel into the wound on her shoulder, front and back. She tossed the empty packet away.

Jacob fell out of the duct, landing hard on his side. Kasumi slammed her last sticky grenade on the side of the duct then jumped down, landing beside the fallen man. She drew her shotgun and fired at the nearing cannibals. Jacob stirred, struggled then pressed against the crate. “Kasumi,” Miranda called. “We have to get this door open. Jacob, are you alright?”

“Been better,” he answered through clenched teeth and he sighed as he kept cover. “Go,” he motioned towards Miranda with his head, instructing Kasumi. “I’ll stay here.” He peered over the top of the crate then twisted and threw a ball of biotic energy at a cannibal. The creature levitated into the air, flailing helplessly at the pull.

Kasumi activated her cloak.

“Three Minutes until orbital failure,” EDI announced.

Kasumi stood before the door, cloaked as she used her omni-tool to hack into the door’s console. Miranda aimed over her cover, shooting at the scion then tossed another Warp. “Shepard, where are you?”

“I see the door ahead,” he panted into the communications device. “We’ve got cargo and there’re husks and scions on our asses.”

“The door isn’t open yet. You may have to take up some defensive positions.” Miranda answered over the gunfire.

“Two minutes, forty five seconds until orbital failure.”

The ship lurched, rolling to one side and the squad stumbled, sliding along the floor. Miranda braced a booted foot against the wall to keep from moving too far. Jacob gripped the crate. Kasumi staggered her stance, easily adapting.

Jacob fired the last three shots of his shotgun, finally dropping the scion. When the cannibals swarmed the scion to feed, Miranda tossed another overload, shocking the two remaining cannibals. The creatures dropped. She pushed to her feet and rushed to Jacob. She crouched low and slipped an arm around his waist to help him stand. “Come on. Kasumi, the door!”

“Almost.”

“Two minutes, thirty seconds.”

“We need it now!” Miranda ordered.

“Almost,” Kasumi repeated.

Miranda assisted Jacob to the extraction point, bracing most of his weight though he tried hard to stand on his own. “Got it!” Kasumi called out and the door opened. Firefight ignited outside as Kasumi, the Commander and his squad raced to the extraction point. Miranda helped Jacob down the long corridor and onto the waiting shuttle. Inside, she guided him to one of the seats at the back of the shuttlecraft and twisted to force him to sit. At Jacob’s nod, she rushed back to the door of the shuttle and aimed her pistol out. As the rest of the squad raced down the corridor, she fired at the two cannibals rushing after them.

Shepard was the last onboard and Garrus pulled closed the door, turning the handle to lock it in place. The shuttle sped away from the docking point with two minutes to spare. Miranda closed her eyes and gripped the metal rail beside the seats on her right. She tilted her head back and sighed. When her eyes opened, she was focused fully and she crossed the shuttle, keeping her balance on the fast and shaky flight back to the Normandy. She crouched before Jacob. “Where does it hurt? What happened?”

“Just fell hard,” Jacob answered. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see the doc when we get back.”

Miranda nodded and stood, looking for Shepard. The Commander stood beside Garrus, looking down at the pile of metal at his feet. “What is that?” Miranda asked.

“A geth,” Shepard answered.

Any relief she felt at the success of the mission fled from her. “A what?”

“That was my sentiments exactly,” Tali commented dryly.

“It’s not just any geth,” Shepard said. “It helped us. Didn’t you see that?”

“I saw it,” Garrus said. “It was sniping at the husks and cannibals coming at us. But it didn’t shoot us.”

Miranda shook her head. “So that means you bring it back with you?”

“I wasn’t going to leave it.” Shepard said and looked more closely at Miranda. He frowned. “What the hell happened to you?”

“You should see the cannibal,” Jacob replied through clenched teeth and a laugh escaped him. He wrapped an arm around his waist, wincing at the pain caused by the laugh. He shifted his weight for comfort then sighed and settled back.

+++

Miranda lay in her bed, staring up at the darkened bulkhead of the ceiling in her private cabin. Five hours had passed since their return from the derelict Reaper. EDI had begun integrating the technology with the Normandy and the deactivated geth was in the AI core, hopefully still deactivated. The first thing she did when they returned was to get all the data from Kasumi. It surprised her that Kasumi so easily relinquished the information though the thief likely retained a copy for herself.

After retrieving the information, Miranda forwarded it directly to the Illusive Man. The task was followed by a long shower. She lingered in the room, uncaring that it was the public room and few others would enter while she was inside. She washed her body three times, her hair four times. She knew that after the first, her person was clean but the stench of the rancid flesh clung in her nose; she couldn’t get rid of it.

Miranda prided herself on her professionalism, her strength and ability to put aside emotions and reaction in order to complete a task. Sometimes, she needed time alone, times of reflection to sort out any thoughts or emotions. After the shower, she returned to her quarters and locked the door. She tried to work but found her mind wandered back to the experience on the ship. She tried to meditate but again, she found herself startled out of the meditation at a realistic sensation of a cannibal’s bite.

She glanced at her wounded shoulder, almost healed. The wound was clean through and the medi-gel was a miracle cure for such injuries. Only a small puckering of flesh remained as evidence of the injury. She didn’t see the doctor afterwards; Jacob’s wounds were worse. Plus, her genetics ensured she healed quickly, easily regenerated.

Sleep eluded her that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the cannibals, the scions, the husks, and the people impaled on the giant spikes in the core of the ship. Her mind refused to let go of the sight and instead dwelled, considering multiple scenarios. How easily she could have become one of those creatures? Were it not for the Lazarus Project, the cell on the derelict Reaper was exactly the kind of project Miranda would have led.

Miranda sat up on the bed, planting her heels into the mattress as she ducked her head, rubbing the back of her neck.  She raked her fingers through her hair and stared at her computer console, a single yellow light blinking to indicate an unread extranet message.  “EDI, where is Commander Shepard?”

“Commander Shepard is in his cabin.”

Miranda nodded and swung her legs off the side of the bed.  She stood and pulled the Cerberus standard three-quarter-sleeved shirt down to her hips.  She picked up a pair of the standard pants draped over her couch and stepped into them, tugging them up to her waist.  “Is the geth still deactivated?”

“At this time, the geth is secured in the AI core.  It poses no threat to the Normandy.”

Miranda nodded and padded barefoot to her desk and sat.  “Alright.  But is it still deactivated?” She read the message from the Illusive Man. He was pleased with the results and the data retrieved.

The AI hesitated to respond but after only a few seconds, replied.  “No.  The geth has been active for the last three hours.  It poses no threat to my systems at this time and I will ensure it does not.”

Miranda ducked her head, rubbing her brow with her fingers as she rested her elbow on the desk.  “Keep me informed, thank you EDI.”

“Of course, Ms. Lawson.  Would you like me to inform the Commander you are looking for him?”

“No, thank you.” Miranda answered and she opened her console.  Activating the holocommunicator, she typed quickly along the console, drawing up her contact list.  She entered the contact information she never used but acquired months ago into the holocommunicator.  

Within ten seconds, the display flickered and upon it, an Alliance soldier.  “State your access code.” he said formally.

“I don’t have one,” she answered.  “Patch me through to Admiral Hackett.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am.  I can’t forward any communications without an access code.” The soldier answered and tapped on his console.  “State your location and how you acquired this contact.”

“That is not your concern.  My name is Miranda Lawson and I’m contacting him from a Cerberus Vessel in the Terminus system.  If you understand what is good for you, soldier, patch me through to the Admiral.  I know he is on your base.  Now.”

The soldier paused and stared at her, distrustful.  He sneered and the feed blackened - a hold screen.  Miranda leaned back, her fingers rhythmically tapping on the desk.  It took 20 seconds for the visual to reappear, this time with Admiral Hackett on visual.  “Ms. Lawson,” he greeted.  “I must say this is unexpected.  How did you find my contact information?”

“How do I know anything?” She replied cryptically.  “And there is no use trying to locate where my signal is originating.  You know I’m with Commander Shepard and my signal is being diverted through fourteen star systems before linking with you.  By the time you find where I’m broadcasting from, we will be gone.”

“Protocol when contacted from a hostile organization, Ms. Lawson, I’m sure you understand.” Hackett replied.

“I do,” she answered.  “I’m just making sure you know where we stand.  I’m contacting you because I have some information you should know.”  She uploaded the files retrieved from the derelict Reaper.

Hackett did not accept initially but waited for security scans to ensure the uploaded file was nonthreatening.  When sure, he accepted and opened the file.  “What is this?”

“Information on Reaper indoctrination.  How it works, how long it takes.  What it does.”

“Do I want to know how you’ve come across this information?”

Miranda shrugged casually.  “I don’t know.  Do you?”

“No.  I don’t.”

“I thought you would say that.”

“Why are you sharing this with us?” Hackett questioned, skeptical.  “You’ve never helped us before.  In fact, you personally have sabotaged numerous operations we’ve engaged upon including galactic security issues.”

“That wasn’t personal.  Simply business and I’ve had very good reasons. I’m sharing this with you because Cerberus cannot stop the Reapers alone.  The galaxy may not be ready to admit they’re real and perhaps the bureaucrats feel the same.  But I know you and Anderson believe in Shepard and know the threat is real.  Somebody has to be ready for the Reapers and if it’s only Cerberus, we’re all doomed.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Hackett said.  “As far as the Alliance and the Council are concerned, Cerberus is still a terrorist organization.  We cannot have vigilante organizations operating as Cerberus does.”

“I don’t expect anything else.” Miranda answered.  “But tiptoeing around red tape and politics is going to get us all killed.  And I’m fully aware that if you manage to find me, you’d arrest me, put me on trial and likely execute me to make some grand statement to the galaxy that you have Cerberus on the run.”

“And that would be a shame, Ms. Lawson.” Hackett said.  “We are very aware of what you do or at least are rumored to do.  You and Mr. Taylor saved the Council.  The Council knows it too.  Do not think your acts go unnoticed.  It doesn’t have to be the way you suggest.”

His words shocked her but Miranda showed no response.  Why would he be so open about such a thing?  What does he want from Cerberus that only she could offer?  Never had anyone from the Alliance tried to get her to switch sides before, except for the Commander.  Instead she deflected his bold attempt to recruit her.  She curtly nodded.  “Thank you.  Don’t waste that information I sent.  It is invaluable. There is much to do before we jump the Omega 4 relay.”

“I’m sure there is.  What you, Commander Shepard, and the crew are doing is a great service to humanity and the galaxy.  Good Luck out there, and come back alive.”

“We can’t promise that,” Miranda answered.  “Lawson out.” she disconnected the communications feed, well aware that she still had over three minutes before they traced the signal to the system where the Normandy mined for Element Zero.  She opened another message, uploaded the intel and composed a quick message: ‘Thought this might be of use to you.’  She sent the message to Liara.

With the information distributed, Miranda stood and walked back to her bed.  She made the bed, tucking the corners.  Before she left the room, she turned off her console.  The halls of the Normandy were empty though a few sat in the mess hall.  They played a game of cards, the holo-imager set in the middle of the table.

In the captain’s cabin, Shepard’s quarters were darkened, the only light coming from the bright aquarium on the wall.  Two fish floated at the top.  She sighed softly and pressed a button beside the aquarium, triggering a small shovel-like metallic plate to skim the surface of the tank and remove the dead fish.  She pressed a second button, dispensing the food for the six remaining.  They swarmed the surface to feed.  The Commander lay on the bed on his stomach, a sheet draped up to his hips.  He was bare-chested, his arms folded under his pillow.  He slept still, unmoving, head facing sideways and his breath was heavy.  She second-guessed her decision to come to his chambers but suppressed the nagging voice in her mind telling her that he didn’t want her there since he was already asleep.

She ignored the inner voice and instead sat on the corner sofa, settled into the corner.  She removed her shoes and stretched her legs out onto the couch.  With a bent elbow on the back of the sofa, she leaned into her hand and sighed softly, closing her eyes.  Why did his presence calm her so?  She didn’t want to think about it.  She just needed some sleep.

+++

Shepard knew the moment she entered his cabin.  He was a soldier and often slept light; of course he would hear anyone enter his room.  He wondered what bothered her so much that she kept her room locked for hours and why she finally decided to come to him.  Would she slip into his bed?  He heard her walk down the stairs, then hesitate, then walk to the sofa.  The slight depression of a cushion clued him into her position.  He couldn’t blame her for choosing the sofa.  If he were asleep and she slipped into his bed and if the action startled him, he didn’t know how he would react.  Or maybe she wasn’t sure if she was invited.

He wondered if she knew he activated the geth, spoke to it.  Likely not.  If she did, he could imagine her waking him to have a fight about activating a geth on the Normandy, especially without consulting her first.  He debated letting her fall asleep on the sofa.  He heard no more sound from her; she must be comfortable.

She had avoided him when they got back on the shuttle but that didn’t mean she was unnoticed by him.  She was covered in blood and flesh but Jacob and Kasumi were not.  Jacob briefed him on their mission and he left nothing out.  A horrible encounter for all of them and he regretted allowing any of them to go, no matter the necessity of the information.  It was too close.  Kasumi was shaken and unusually quiet. Jacob was wounded, Miranda nearly devoured by a cannibal.  

Decision made, Shepard pushed the sheet off and got out of the bed.  Miranda woke when he moved and looked to him, uncertain.  Her eyes dipped from his chest to his boxer-clad hips then up to his eyes again.  “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She said, softly.  “I just ...” she trailed off and her eyes averted from him.  She swung her legs off the sofa to stand.

“Stay,” he said, voice husky from his sleep and he crossed the distance between them.  He offered a boyish smirk and bent down.  Giving her no time to object or counter him, he slipped an arm under her legs, the other around her waist and he lifted her with ease.  

She tensed, stiff in his arms, unused to being held.  She gripped his shoulder with her arm as if to help him.  “Shepard, what are you doing?”

“Relax, I won’t drop you.  You’re light.” He held her close and chuckled at the uncertain expression on her face.  “Never been picked up before, huh?”

“Not while I was conscious, no.  What are you doing?”

“Like hell you’re sleeping on the sofa when there’s a perfectly good bed right here,” he answered and carried her to the bed.  He paused at the side of the bed and searched her eyes.  “I want you here.  Not there.”

She brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheeks and offered a genuine smile.  Relaxing in his arms she leaned up to him and kissed him softly.  At his hum of pleasure, she slipped her hand around to the back of his head, holding him to her for a longer embrace.  The kiss slowly ended and she stroked her fingers down his neck to his chest.  

He set her on the bedside and walked around the bed, bending down to pick up the pile of discarded clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed.  He tossed them into a corner.  “So, Ms. Lawson, is the ship cold tonight?”

“A little,” she answered softly.

Usually witty and sharp, her lack of such a response worried him, and he knew it was not the temperature of the ship that brought her to his cabin.  He slipped into the bed and reached for the sheets.  “You know, skin on skin is usually much warmer.”  Maybe that would get a riled reaction from her.

She laughed and shook her head.  “We can compromise.”  She wiggled out of her pants and folded them, laying them on the floor beside the bed.

His eyes raked her with appreciation, the tight shirt and black lace panties plus the stark contrast against her flawless skin. “Well, as amazing as this view is …” he motioned to himself in only his snuggly fitted boxers then to her. “I’m afraid we’re not even.”

“Oh, I never claimed we would be even,” she offered a teasing smirk and settled into the mattress, turning her back to him.

He laughed and laid down beside her, slipping an arm around her waist as he pulled her back into his chest. He molded his body to hers, encasing her, his arm strong around her. Pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder then the back of her neck, he murmured. “Tease.”

“Only because you like it,” She shot back and relaxed against him. She enjoyed his comfort, his warmth and strength. Why did she so easily relinquish everything that made her strong when she lay in his arms? Was she so weak? Her teasing expression sobered in thought.

“What is it?” he asked, gently, his fingers tracing absent patterns on her abdomen beneath the hem of her shirt. “You’re tense all of a sudden.”

“It’s nothing. I’m …” She trailed off. How many times did she deflect his questions? Did she so fear the answer, the truth? Resolved, she continued. “I feel … that I lose myself with you. Who I am. I don’t like it.”

He never loosened his hold. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.”

“It can be hard,” he said. “What you’ve been through today and to have a cannibal so close.”

“That’s not all of it. Not really.” She reflected on what really bothered her, what ate at her and kept her away since returning from the ship. “I could have been on that ship, Shepard. I could have been one of those people indoctrinated … turned into one of those things. If you had survived the Collector attack, if you never died …” she peered back over her shoulder at him. “That ship is exactly the kind of cell, the kind of project I would have been assigned to. An impossible project, impossible odds with absolutely necessary results.”

“But you didn’t and you’re not.” He splayed his palm on her stomach. “I died that day from the Collectors and you brought me back. To think of what if’s and could be’s … it’ll make you insane. Trust me. I spent many nights thinking, what if I never got so close to that Prothean Beacon.”

She turned onto her back to look up at him. “If you never did, we would already be enslaved by the Reapers. Saren would have been free to do everything and an attack would have been successful on the Citadel.”

“Yeah,” he pushed her shirt higher up to fully expose her stomach. “You’re right. And if you didn’t bring me back, you’d be stopping the Collectors now. That is likely the project the Illusive Man would have given you.”

“And I would have failed.” She answered without hesitation. “I could never have done what you have done. Not like this.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He tightened his grip on her waist. “But we’re going to finish this together.”

“You don’t need me to finish this, Shepard,” she smiled. “That’s sweet of you to say though.”

“It’s true,” he stated, intensely. “I couldn’t do this without you. It’s pretty damn good motivation to fight when people you care about are at risk.”

She slowly shook her head. “You would have done it for Liara. Garrus. Tali … for Kaiden because he died for this cause. Because it is the right thing to do.”

He grinned. “Can’t you just let me say great romantic things and reward me for it?”

She arched a brow. “I’m not here to make things easy for you, Commander.”

“Obviously not,” he chuckled and flopped onto his back. As he stared up at the ceiling, he tucked an arm under his head to prop it up on the pillow.

She turned into him, curling into his side and she laid her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on the center of his chest. She closed her eyes when his arm wrapped around her, holding her to his side. Her fingers slipped through the coarse hair on his chest, rhythmic.

“That feels good,” he admitted to her in a husked voice. His calloused hand roamed down her side, over her lace-covered hip and rested on her thigh.

“Why did you activate the geth?” she questioned, softly.

“EDI secured the room,” he answered. “I just had to know.”

“Know what?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” He curled his fingers, stubbed nails scraping her smooth thigh. “It helped us. It shot at cannibals coming after us and one that snuck up behind me. Why would it do that? And why did it have an N7 paudron. Like it used it to repair itself or something. I needed answers. And for a single geth to be here. They’re usually together. Work as a collective. But this one was alone and had a conversation with me. An intelligent conversation. It never threatened me.”

“The geth aren’t known for … that’s just bizarre.” She said. “I have never heard of the geth doing anything like that.”

“They don’t,” he said. “That’s why I had to see. I think he can help us. Imagine. A geth on a collector ship if we have to hack into something.”

“Could you control it? It’s more unpredictable than the Krogan.” She slowly shook her head. “I don’t know about this, Shepard.”

Could he trust the geth? Could he trust it not to attack the ship, the system and his crew? “Let’s sleep on it. EDI has everything under control for now. After we wake up, we’ll make a choice either way. Keep it or jettison it.”

“Alright, but we discuss all possibilities. If the geth is rogue and attacks the ship, we could easily be dead before we could even defend ourselves.”

“EDI wouldn’t let it get that far.” Shepard said, confidently. “We still need to get some more resources. It’ll be a few days until our next ground mission. We’ll talk to it again after we get some sleep.”

“Mmm, and we’re actually going to get some sleep?”

He chuckled at her teasing tone. “That depends if you had something more entertaining in mind.”

She pressed her hand into her chest to lift up and she kissed him softly. “No. I think sleep sounds just perfect.” She settled into the mattress again and turned her back to him, pulling the sheets up to her chin, knowing he would spoon against her again. She sighed at his touch and pressed back into him, comforted by his scent, the strength and the warmth. It unnerved her that she enjoyed it.


	23. Chapter 23

Jacob shifted slowly on the hardened bed in the medical bay.  His chest pinched with pain when he breathed, his ribs tender and bruised.  He forced his eyes to open and squinted at the assaulting overhead lights.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor,” Dr. Chakwas said and used a dimmer on the side wall to lower the intensity of the brightness.  “I had just finished an examination and hadn’t yet turned down the lights.  How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” Jacob answered in a husked tone.  His lips and mouth were dry and he struggled to sit up.  His muscles rebelled, and he remained on his back, unable to do a sit-up.  He refused to give up and instead forced the muscles to contract.  They trembled with the movement, and he managed to sit upright.  “How long have I been here?”

“Not too long,” Dr. Chakwas said.  “Less than 24 hours.”  At his side, she waited for him to swing his legs off the side of the medical bed.  “Your injuries are not as severe as I originally thought.”

“Yeah, I’ve had worse.”  He winced and wrapped an arm around his waist.  “How long will it take to heal?  I’ve got to be ready for when we hit the relay.”

“Rib injuries can take quite some time, Mr. Taylor.  Though I am sure you will go into the fight, I cannot say you will be ready for it.  What I can do is stabilize it.  If possible, we can use a light-weight armor to protect your chest, sides and back.  Though it will not stop pain or re-injury should you twist or move the wrong way, it can help prevent any further injury from impact.”

“Great, I’ll get started right away.  Am I free to go?” Jacob slowly stood, stiff and tense so not to aggravate the injury.  He walked to the far table to pick up his shirt.  After looking at his tightly wrapped chest and then the shirt again, he decided not to attempt to put it on.

“Yes, you are.  Come back within the next 24 hours so we can evaluate the healing process.”

“Will do.  Thanks, Doc.” Jacob offered a small smile and salute to the doctor before walking slowly from the medical bay, his shirt still clutched in his hand.  

As he entered the armory, Miranda looked up from her seat at the far end, an M-3 Predator completely disassembled on the table before her.  “You’re up.” She stood.  “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake so soon.”

“Yeah, but I’m alright.  Alright as I can be, I guess.”  He walked into the room and folded the shirt then set it beside the computer console near the lockers.  “What’s wrong with the gun?”

“Nothing,” Miranda answered with a casual shrug.  “It’s something I don’t know how to do.  Put together a gun.  Usually it’s just easier to incapacitate someone else and take theirs if you need one.  But it doesn’t hurt to know in the end.”

“Uh huh.” Jacob sat near the corner of the table.  He didn’t believe a word of it but he wasn’t stupid enough to call her on that.  Let Shepard push her buttons.  Jacob saw enough of what Miranda was capable of to know not to push or call her on any bullshit.  But Miranda had changed over the months.  Not so cold, removed, or withdrawn.  The usual tension she carried disappeared, leeched from her and she smiled more often, the usual strains of stress on her brow and at the corners of her eyes were gone.

“It’s my fault,” Miranda admitted and sat beside Jacob so they were at the corner.  She shook her head.  “I should have gone alone onto the Reaper.  It was too risky and if the three of us were lost, Shepard would not be able to do what he needs to do.  We need everyone for this Collector mission.”

“Nah,” Jacob slowly shook his head.  He was shocked to hear any kind of admission like that.  She never would have admitted an error of any judgment six months ago - especially a nonexistent error.  “If you went alone, you wouldn’t have made it back.  To get through that security like that?  And all those husks?  You needed a squad for that mission.  And we got outta there alive.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” she said and looked to Jacob.  “You were seriously injured because of my own carelessness.  It won’t happen again.”

“We all take risks, Miranda.  It’s part of the job,” Jacob answered casually though her concern for him was touching, if unexpected.  “We signed on for this knowing that it was dangerous.  I’m not backing out now cuz things got a little close.  Plus, somebody’s gotta cover your ass.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she slowly shook her ducked head.  “I’m sorry nonetheless.  And thank you.”  She looked up at him.  “You saved my life back there.  I’m grateful.”

“No need to thank me.  Like hell I was gonna let that thing drag you off.  Never seen one like that before.  I thought the Reapers just made husks.  But that thing was just eating others.  Enough to give you nightmares, ya know?”  

“Cannibal is a good name for it.  That’s exactly what that thing was doing.  Husks, other cannibals.  That Scion?  It didn’t discriminate.”  

“Yeah, I know,” Jacob leaned forward and picked up the pistol grip, examining it for any faults or damage.  “So you and the Commander.  I just wanted to let you know that I’m happy for you two.  You deserve someone like him.”

Miranda watched as he picked up another piece of the gun and attached it, observant as he slowly put the gun together.  “And you deserve someone who can offer more of themselves than I can.”

“You never go half-assed, Miranda,” Jacob said with an amused smile as he carefully set the firing pin.  “All in, you know?  It’s why you’re the informant and all I do is pull the trigger.”

“That’s not all you do.”

“Security detail.  Not much else.  Maybe security detail with a bit of flash.”  He presented her with the pistol, reassembled.  “Where’s Shepard now?”

“With the geth and Jack aboard a geth ship.  Right now ...” she pointed to the port side of the ship.  “Right over there.  We’re cloaked.”  She took the pistol.  “According to the geth that Shepard activated while you were unconscious - who is calling itself Legion, by the way - the geth do not have windows because they do not see ... or require sight as we do.  So with the Normandy stealth systems, we’re practically invisible right here.”

“Huh ... so you believe that?”

“Not in the least,” Miranda turned the gun over in her hand, examined it, then opened the chamber as if to load it.  “But Shepard did and so far, it seems accurate.  There has been no evidence that the geth are aware of our presence here.  I can’t see inside the ship, though.” She began to take apart the pistol again.  “I hate feeling blind.  And since this mission began with Shepard, I am nothing but blind.”

“You can’t get into the communications?  Onboard camera systems?”

Miranda shook her head.  “No.  The quarian is trying but their security system is astounding.  Shepard said he wanted to help these geth.  Why would he do that?  The geth tried to destroy everything only two years ago.  Nearly killed him on numerous occasions.  Why the change?”

“I’m still kinda shocked he activated a geth on board the ship.  Well, maybe I shouldn’t really be shocked but why did he do that?”

“Said he wanted to talk to it.  Can you believe that?  Talk to the geth?” She set all the parts out for the gun and surveyed each then picked up the pistol grip, checking the trigger guard.  “I have to stop doubting him.  His methods border on insanity but he gets results and that is what we’re after.  Results.  If an activated geth ... well, let’s be honest.  Is it any more dangerous than Jack or Grunt?  Or Kasumi for that matter?”

“I don’t know.  Though with EDI here, I’m sure she can just hack into it and deactivate it, right?”

“Not likely.  An AI cannot have that kind of freedom.  There is no predictability or control in that way.” Miranda answered.

“My programming prohibits me from compromising the integrity of this ship, Ms. Lawson.” EDI replied from the console on the far side of the room.  “However, should the geth pose a security risk, I can block access to any part of the ship from another remote computer host, thereby rendering any attempt to sabotage the Normandy impossible.”

“Thank you, EDI.” Miranda replied.  “Reinforce the security of the AI core.  If that is where the geth is to be stored, I don’t want it possible for the geth to have any access to you or the Normandy systems.”

“Security systems have already been upgraded and all information is encrypted according to proper Cerberus protocols.  I will begin simulations to ensure all files are secure.  Will there be anything else, Ms. Lawson?”

“That will be all, EDI.  Thank you.”

“I hate how it does that,” Jacob said.  “Always listening.  Sneaking up on you.  No, not the hammer yet.” He pointed to a different piece of the gun.

Miranda nodded and placed the hammer component down and picked up the indicated piece.  “EDI doesn’t have to sneak.  An AI is perpetually aware.”  She continued to work in silence, putting the pieces of the gun back together and when completed, she presented the pistol to Jacob.

He nodded his head.  “Impressive.  For a beginner.  Now you gotta do it in under ten seconds.”

“Commander Shepard has the deck.  XO Lawson is relieved.” EDI announced.

Miranda smirked at the teasing and stood.  “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do, Miranda.” Jacob slowly rose and handed her the pistol in his hand.  “Practice.  I’ll time ya next time.”

She took the offered sidearm and holstered it on her hip.  When she exited the armory, Shepard stood at his private terminal beside the large galactic map.  His armor was dented and scratched on the right side from the firefight he endured on the geth ship.  His helmet rested on its side on the small desk and his rifle was slung casually over his left shoulder.  She approached him.  “Hey.  How did it go?”

He turned at her voice.  “It went.”

“That good?”

He smiled and slowly shook his head.  “Yeah, you could say that.”  He closed the terminal and kissed her.  “We need to talk.  New mission over the wires.  Will you be in your office in an hour?”

He never kissed her publicly before and though Miranda valued her privacy and rarely shared anything personal with people who worked for her, she enjoyed the open statement, proclaiming Shepard was hers.  Not that anything public was necessary.  Her ears were always tuned to the buzz of the crew and she knew everyone on the ship was aware of Shepard’s relationship with his executive officer.  No one questioned it and no one challenged her claim.  “I’ll be there.  I have to finish a report or two.  I’ll be waiting.”

Shepard paused at the insinuating tone and with a sly smirk, watched her step into the elevator.  His smirk broadened to a grin when she leaned into a hip, crossed her arms and arched a brow.  After the elevator door closed, Miranda smiled to herself.  Maybe it wasn’t so bad for her stomach to clench, her heart to race and her breath to catch when he smiled at her like that.

+++

Miranda looked up as the door to her office opened. Shepard entered. “Miranda, you have a minute?”

“Always,” she leaned forward and intertwined her fingers on the desk. “I was just finishing up the last report.”

“I can come back if you need?”

“No, it can wait.” She closed the terminal and stood.

He smiled at that and walked into her private quarters. “Good. I had another message from the Illusive Man.”

Miranda followed him, curious and when he sat on the sofa, she sat beside him, a few feet away and twisted at the waist as she crossed her legs, facing him as an arm braced over the back of the sofa. “What did he say?”

“Have you ever heard of Project Bergerac?” He asked and when she shook her head, he continued. “He thinks whatever virus caused the VI function on Jarrahe station has caused the communications to go dark and the station for Project Bergerac to go on lock down about a week ago.”

“Another rogue VI?” She frowned and leaned towards him. “It is possible. Where was the station?”

“Porolan. Never heard of the planet but Joker says we’ve been there before. Chasing down Saren we scrounged some old relic off the surface. I don’t remember it. Eventually, that all started to run together.”

She picked up the personal tablet on the table before them and typed the planet’s name into a search tool. With stern expression, she researched the planet. “There isn’t very much here. Mineral rich planet. Extremely cold. You’ll have to send probes to find an exact location.”

He shifted closer to her to peer down at the tablet. “Joker has us in route. And EDI has instructions to begin sending probes to the planet when we are within range. Can you come down with me? Do you have a protective suit for that kind of temperature?”

“I do,” she answered and set the tablet down. “What happened with the geth?”

Shepard leaned back with a sigh, head resting on the back of the sofa, and he settled in for comfort. “It was … well … I don’t know.” He glanced at her and at her engaged expression, he continued. “I spoke with him. Legion. Numerous times. He said that geth and the heretics are not the same. It was not the geth who attacked everyone with Sovereign, it was the heretics. It would be like Cerberus declaring war against the Batarians but everyone blaming all humans. After Sovereign’s defeat, the geth were … interested.”

“Interested? In what?”

“Me. He said, ‘I defeated their god’. The heretics worshiped Sovereign like a god.” Shepard’s brow knitted in thought. “And then said that some kind of math computing difference is the reason there are heretics and geth. I guess it’s like the Alliance and Cerberus.”

“Are you insinuating that Cerberus is the heretic of the human race?”

Her question wasn’t hostile though a hint of defensiveness laced the inquiry. Shepard shook his head and sat up, facing her. He twisted at the waist, knee bent so his leg rested on the couch. “Not in a bad way. It is like … think of a religious war between two factions. Each faction will come to a conclusion based upon its doctrines and in most religions, truths are absolute, right? No matter what one says to the other, nothing could sway one belief to the other. It doesn’t necessarily mean either are wrong, because both are true to each person. Legion said the heretics say one is less than two. And geth say two is less than three. Both are true.” He grew quiet, in deep thought.

“Wow.” Miranda slowly shook her head. “Shepard, your mind was wasted in the Alliance marines.” She faced him then, easing closer and though surprised at his intellectual conclusion, contently engaged him. “I don’t understand its logic. One is less than two and two is less than three. Both are along the same thought of being less than another. Yes, both are true but that doesn’t explain why they cannot co-exist. Two truths, one truth. Is there a difference in those instances? Both are truths.”

He rubbed his head and winced. “I don’t know. Maybe that was a stupid analogy.”

“It wasn’t,” she quickly defended him. “On the contrary, I think it was a brilliant analogy. But that doesn’t mean it’s logical. The geth are known for being logical. The fact that different factions of geth have, well beliefs, for lack of a better word is just bizarre. That in itself is illogical. Can a program be illogical?”

“But that’s the catch. It is logical. I think. Ok, look.” He reached for the tablet on the table again and swiped his fingers over the extranet browser. He entered a search for a famous actress and opened two three-dimensional holographic images. The images popped from the screen, side-by-side. “Alright. Same actress right? Just in this film she has black hair and in this one she had blonde hair. Neither are wrong.” He sighed and sat back, shaking his head. “Nah, that’s a dumb analogy too.” He tossed the tablet onto the table; it flickered and turned off.

“No, I think you’re on to something. So what you’re saying is that Legion says the heretics, due to a programming error, believed that Sovereign was their god. The geth, do not.”

“Yes but what Legion was saying was that there was no programming error. One is less than two. Versus two is less than three. Both are correct. It’s just that each … function, I guess, was offered this different solution. Both of which are true equations?”

“Your religious war metaphor was perfect.”

“So what’s the right answer then? How can they both be true? Which is the true nature of the geth? I’m sure the heretics would call Legion a heretic.”

“I don’t know, Shepard,” she answered softly. “Who is right? Cerberus or the Alliance?”

Months ago, he would have answered easily. The Alliance. But was it because the Alliance was right or because he was raised to think they were right? He knew no different. His parents were Alliance and he was raised on an Alliance vessel or an Alliance colony. He enrolled in the Alliance military, lived within Alliance rules and laws. He obeyed Alliance superiors. He witnessed Cerberus crimes, attacked them on their bases. But the Alliance had criminals too. He never judged all the Alliance based on the actions of the few. Yet, he so easily condemned an entire organization based on the actions of a few cells he witnessed. Months ago, he was Legion and Miranda was the heretic.

A sickening nausea swirled in his stomach and he pushed to his feet to cross the room. Standing by the window, he gazed out into the depths of space, vast and expansive. “The heretics, according to Legion, wanted to use a virus to change geth logic to accepting the heretic logic. Legion and I struck back. I could have destroyed the heretics.” He pressed his palms into the cool edge of the thick window and whispered. “I should have destroyed them.”

“What did you do?”

“I reprogrammed them. Did to them what they wanted to do to the other geth. I … changed them. Indoctrinated them.”

“Shepard, you cannot indoctrinate a machine.”

“Are they only machines?” He glanced back over his shoulder at her. Stress lines pulled at his eyes and wrinkled his brow. “Legion is self aware. So is EDI. They can make deductions.”

“Yes, based on their programming.”

“It’s more than that.” He returned to the couch. “Legion has a piece of N7 armor he used to patch a hole on his … I don’t know. Body? Is it a body? It was one of my pauldrons he found as he traced my path across the galaxy. Where the Normandy crashed. He took that piece to repair himself. Not another. That piece. And he admitted to being damaged prior to that. Why wait? Why put that piece in place? When I asked, Legion … he couldn’t answer me. That in itself is illogical. Why would a computer program dodge a question, be uncomfortable. Take a souvenir.”

“Why do you keep referring to the geth as a he? There is no gender. It is a program.”

“Because it doesn’t feel like a program!” Shepard sank onto the couch and raked his fingers through his shorn hair. He ducked his head and closed his eyes. “The heretics made a choice. I took that choice away and indoctrinated them with another truth. Legion’s truth. Legion says the geth are … apathetic to organics. Was that why I did it? If the heretics are the true nature then I changed them for our benefit.”

“As winners of war always do,” she whispered and placed a hand on his back, rubbing slowly over his shoulders then down to the center of his back. “Are there more heretics or more geth? What is the majority?”

He shook his head and scoffed. “If we indoctrinate the minority, then I should force all of Cerberus to adapt and join the Alliance or else.” At her silence, he clasped his hands, elbows resting on his knees and pressed his chin into his hooked thumbs. “Not so easy when we’re talking about organics, is it?” After a long minute of silence, he asked. “Miranda, what does it mean to be alive?”

Miranda exhaled slowly as she considered his words. Was there truth to his observations? What was the definition of life? Biological life, organic life was a simple answer. Organic life was Carbon based and required certain specific environments to survive. Though could she base her definition on carbon based lifeforms? Five years ago, micro-organisms were discovered on a foreign world of the terminus system based on Methane. A frozen moon with oceans of methane and within the liquid thrived bacterial life. Biologically, all life breathed. All life had cells. All life reproduced, to an extent.

Many used the term ‘synthetic life’. But were synthetics, in fact, alive? “You’re asking if the geth are alive? Can synthetics be alive?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m asking.”

“Can any computer program be considered alive?”

“No,” he answered. “Right? I don’t know now! That VI on Jarrahe station reacted like anyone would trying to survive.”

“Turrets can be programmed to fire upon enemies but that doesn’t mean it has any mental capacity to deduce anything beyond its programmed function. A machine serving a function based on its programming is not alive. That is like accusing a turret of having a moral compass.” Miranda cupped his cheek and turned his gaze to hers. “Shepard, do not let this decision haunt you. If these heretics mobilized again and attacked us, you would be fighting them. This was a preemptive strike. Nothing more. Alive, programs, VI, AI, it doesn’t matter. We cannot allow geth that are intent on the destruction of organics to remain. Especially with the Reapers coming. We will have a repeat of what happened with Saren, perhaps worse.”

“What if I made the wrong choice? It could be … catastrophic. Miranda …” he took her hands. “How many times have I made decisions and not even really think of the consequences?”

“Like what?”

“Letting the Rachni queen go? That could start another war. Same with the geth here. Or hiding the truth from the flotilla about the geth and Tali’s father. I make these decisions that should never be mine to make. Who in the hell am I to make these choices? Save the council, take the fleet after Sovereign. There were admirals present! I was outranked by Alliance Commanders on those other vessels and they deferred to me when it came to commanding a fleet of Alliance warships. And me, in my power surge, relished it and I made a choice that wasn’t mine to make!”

“John,” she whispered and held his angered and wounded gaze. “As a Spectre, the choice could only be yours.”

His eyes closed and his heart clenched at the sound of his name finally on her tongue. “I never wanted this.”

“No,” she slipped her hand from his tight grasp to brush her finger tips over his cheek then behind his ear. “But you’re duty driven. At no point would you shun that because of uncertainty. And I cannot think of anyone I would trust more.”

“No man should have that power.”

“Perhaps not. And it won’t get easier.” She tilted her head, observing his expression. Though he was so strong, rarely did that strength waiver and slip. His decisions always came with confidence and certainty, but Miranda knew they had to be difficult for him. She witnessed that when the death of numerous civilians tempted him to turn his rifle on Zaeed. “Come here,” she coaxed, deeply and gripped his hand as she stood.

She motioned to the bed with her hand and then walked away from him to the small bedstand. She opened the door and removed the half-used tube of biotic gel and placed it on the bed. She unclasped the fasteners around her wrists and forearms then pulled off the tight black gloves.

“What would have you done?” he asked her and pulled the snug shirt over his head. “Would you have reprogrammed them too?”

“No, I would have destroyed them,” she answered softly. When he paused with uncertainty, she continued. “But I understand why you did not.”

“Yeah? Why?” He sat on the bed’s edge and unfastened his heavy boots.

“Because you can’t bring yourself to kill something or someone if you think there is a better option,” she answered. When he paused, she tilted her head and watched him, the lines of his spine and sinewy muscles of his back and shoulders. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” he said then sighed and ducked his head. “No … I don’t know.” He pulled off his boots and tossed them across the room. They crashed against the hull of the ship and fell to the floor. “I’m sick of thinking about anything.” He crawled onto the bed and flopped down, slipping his arms under the pillow and laying his head on the cushioning. He inhaled; it smelled like her.

She pressed a cool hand into his back and leaned over, whispering in his ear. “Close your eyes.”

He obeyed her and released a slow sigh. He inhaled again and counted to five. Slow and deliberate, he counted the seconds of the inhale and then released in an equally controlled exhale. He hummed contently when she straddled his waist and he felt her sit back onto him, the smooth skin of her legs brushing his bare waist. He knew she must have stripped off the one-piece suit and he opened a single eye to look back over his shoulder at her. He was right.

She perched upon him in a black lace bra. He couldn’t see if she wore anything else, but assumed she wore those sexy high-hipped panties he’d often seen on her. She carefully rolled the tube and squeezed some of the clear gel onto her palm. “I thought I said to close your eyes.” She chided him lightly and offered a stunning smile.

“I’d rather look at you,” he said, voice deeper than usual and a little husked. He twisted beneath her and she lifted up onto her knees so he could flip onto his back. His eyes fluttered when she sat on his hips and he gripped her waist to hold her. His hands roamed over her thighs before resting on her hips. “I want to watch what you do.”

“Suit yourself,” she pressed her palms onto his chest and her eyes slowly closed in concentration.

The gel was cold, slick, and wet, and her hands moved in a circular pattern over his chest then down the top part of his abdomen. She covered his chest with the cool gel, massaging it into the muscles. His mind wanted to dwell on the haunting and weighted decisions about the geth and the philosophy about their reprogramming, the consequences of his decisions on the lives of so many. But her touch felt so good, it distracted him. He embraced the distraction.

He resisted a moan at the sight and teasingly shifted beneath her, knowing she felt his excitement. “I had the strangest conversation with Mordin.”

“Oh?”

“Well first he told me to watch for bugs as they could be planted anywhere.” He said and when she paused in the massage, he rubbed his hands over her thighs; she began the massage again. He hummed, contently. “And then he said that he would forward some … videos to my terminal. About the creative use of biotics.”

“The creative use of biotics.” she slowly shook her head, amused.

“I forwarded one to you. I believe there were three Asari in that one.” He offered a mischievous grin.

She laughed. “Shepard, do you really think …” her biotics flared and the tendrils tickled along his skin, making his hair stand on end. She leaned over him, pressing on his abdomen to keep herself balanced and she whispered. “… that I need a video guide?”

+++

The Illusive Man rolled a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger as he stared out at the red giant outside the observatory window on the Cerberus space station.  He tapped the fingers of his other hand in rhythmic succession against the arm of his chair.  Crossing his legs, he waved the hand with the cigarette before his eyes, queuing a dozen holographic screens to appear from the elongated console. He picked up a lighter from a small compartment on the left side of his chair and placed the cigarette in his mouth. He pressed a single button on the console and waited.

He lit the cigarette and returned the lighter to its storage compartment. He inhaled deeply from the cigarette, savoring the rush as the smoke filled his lungs. Pressing the cigarette between two fingers, he took it from his mouth and slowly exhaled. The screens separated and upon the circular elevated pedestal, the full image of a man appeared.

The man crossed his arms, stoic. His hair was long, straight and black and his eyes were hidden behind a mask. He wore tight light combat armor and an elaborate utility belt wrapped around his waist. A pointed blade hung from his right side.

“I’ve read your report. Good work.” The Illusive man hissed an exhale through his teeth.

“You wanted it done. So it’s done.”

The Illusive Man nodded. “I’ve gotten some interesting information I want you to investigate.”

“Information?” the man uncrossed his arms and shifted his weight. “That’s not my trade.”

“But this will be,” The Illusive Man offered cryptically. “Let’s just say we have an opportunity to balance the power on the Citadel Council. And that is something we’re both interested in.”

“And I thought you’d want me to clean up the mess you have.”

“There is no mess. Not yet.” The Illusive man answered calmly and brought the cigarette to his lips to inhale again. “Project Lazarus will succeed. When they return from the Omega 4 Relay, things may be different. But I am not going to preemptively strike.” He exhaled in a hiss. “I have very valuable individuals on that mission. If a situation arises, we will contain it then. Not before. Is that understood?”

“Clear,” the man nodded.

“Good,” the Illusive Man said and snuffed out his cigarette. “Finish cleaning your trail. I’ll be in touch when I have a destination for you.”

The holo-feed disconnected.

+++

Shepard slowly roused from a satiating and relaxing sleep, naked and thoroughly satisfied. His muscles hummed with the stimulation Miranda’s biotics provided and even though it was hours ago, he still felt the after effects. He forced his eyes open to stare at the shadowed ceiling and the crossing metallic beams that traversed the Normandy. A thin sheet covered his legs and draped over his hips. He turned his head to the side.

Miranda stretched atop the bed on her stomach, arms tucked under the pillow. The sheet reached her waist, leaving her back and arms bared to his eyes. She faced him, in sleep, head ducked into one of her arms and stray pieces of hair hung into her face. It surprised him to see her in such a vulnerable position, offering her back so freely. When she slept, she usually stayed on her side and she often slept very lightly, was usually the first awake when he stayed with her. Rarely could he watch her sleep.

He carefully twisted onto his side, facing her and reached out to tuck her hair back from her face. Gentle, his rough fingers barely brushed her cheek but her eyes opened anyway, startled at first. He smiled, regretful. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to wake you.”

She hummed and closed her eyes again, exhaling a sigh. “What were you doing then?” her voice was husky, a little raspy from sleep.

“Damn, you’re sexy.” He growled and rubbed a hand over her back. He moved closer to her. “Keep sleeping. I was just … watching.”

“You shouldn’t be watching.” She reached out and pressed a hand into his chest, guiding him onto his back. She slipped closer to him and pressed against his side, pillowing her head on his chest as she draped her arm over his chest. “Sleep while you can.”

“I’d rather make love to you while I can,” he wrapped his arm around her, splaying his hand on her back to hold her against his side.

She smiled and snuggled into his side, her hand absently tracing a pattern on his chest. “Aren’t you thoroughly satisfied?”

“I feel amazing.”

“As do I,” she tilted her head back to press a kiss to his stubble-covered jaw. “But I would like to be able to walk on this next mission.”

He smiled and contently lay with her, his fingers brushing along her back, first his nails then the pads. “Miranda.”

She purred in response. “Mmm?”

He ducked his head to whisper. “When this is over … come with me.”

“Where?” she absently asked.

“Back to the Alliance. To the Council.”

She opened her eyes and pressed on his chest to push up enough to look into his eyes. “Or you could stay here with me. On the Normandy. With Cerberus. Shepard, you’ve seen that not everything we do is evil. Extreme, yes, but we’re not some evil organization out for galactic dominance. That’s not what we’re about.”

“Maybe.” He cupped her cheek and brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “But I have a hell of a lot more power and influence as a Spectre. And the Alliance won’t touch you. Not with me there and not if you defect. You know way too much information.”

She recoiled as if slapped and she pushed away from him, brow pinched and opened her mouth to speak. She closed it quickly though. Before he could ask, she pressed her fingers into his lips and muttered a soft curse to herself. She exhaled a calming sigh and then a light chuckle escaped her.

He watched her curiously. What the hell was she doing?

She eased back against him, playfully swatted his chest as she snuggled back into his side, this time with her lips at his ear. She kissed there then angled her head so she spoke into his ear towards the pillow. “Don’t even say something like that. This entire ship is bugged and just the suggestion that anyone on this ship would defect is enough to get us all killed. Do you understand? Don’t look alarmed or anything, just … show me you understand.”

His hand splayed on her back and he closed his eyes, humming. He nuzzled her neck, voice low and intended only for his ears. “Even here? He watches us here?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not willing to test it. And if I were him, I would. Especially considering our growing … closeness.” Her fingers scratched at his chest. “Don’t talk about it again. Not here … at least not onboard. Alright?”

“Yeah,” he kissed her neck then along her jaw to find her mouth. “Think about it. Promise me.”

“Alright,” she breathed against his lips and cupped his cheek to seal her mouth to his. She kissed him deeply, pressed close to him and when she eased back, she kissed his shoulder then pillowed her head again on his chest.

“I’ll think about it too,” he answered her and squeezed her hip. When she looked up at him, he offered a small smile. He kissed her and mumbled. “Me and you. We’ll worry about where later.”

She swallowed the end of his words with another long kiss, no obvious hint as to the nature of their discussion based on their actions. Her palm gripped the muscles of his chest then slid down his abdomen and beneath the sheet. When he growled, she smiled and biotic tendrils flared from her hand.

As the cool tingling sensation fired to his groin, he groaned and pulled the sheet up to their chests as he turned to face her. “I won’t share you with him,” he growled against her lips and rolled his hips into her hand, unable to stop his movements at her touch.

“You don’t,” she pledged.

He stilled and cupped her face with his palm, forcing her eyes on his. Her touch paused on him though the biotics still pulsed and she swallowed, waiting for his response, likely unaware of her tell of uncertainty. She held his gaze and Shepard thanked whatever deity gave him any opportunity with her. He loved her, fiercely. Possessively. Entirely. Words escaped him in the moment at the overwhelming trust she placed in him with the two words she just whispered. He pulled her close and captured her lips.


	24. Chapter 24

Shepard gripped the overhead bar of the shuttle and shifted his weight for balance during the flight from the Normandy to the planet.  He scanned the gathered crew, his entire squad.  The shuttle was cramped but none complained, instead merely sat or stood quiet, sobered.  The air was thick with tension and uncertainty.  Within the next few weeks, they would make the jump through the Omega 4 relay with little likelihood of return.  Amazing how the realization of one’s own mortality weighted on the mind.  

The only two who appeared unaffected were Samara and Thane.  He understood Thane’s acceptance.  After saving his son, Thane was resigned to his own death - whether by natural causes or firefight.  Shepard often wondered how Thane found such peace in a time of stress and impending death.  Perhaps because Thane knew that death was unavoidable so was there no point in fear or resistance.

Samara, on the other hand, found peace in her code.  Shepard understood the concept but could not personally relate.  With the death of Morinth, the justicar finally achieved her long sought-after goal.  Samara’s code required her to enact justice in all manner of things.  A never ending task.  He spoke to her once about it in the days after their mission on Omega to stop the renegade Ardat-Yakshi.  Her words stuck in his mind, vividly.  ‘Injustice will always be.  And I will act as my code demands to those injustices that I witness.’

The key to her code - ‘That I witness.’  Of course there would always be murderers, swindlers, rapists, thieves and if someone obsessed over all the rampant injustices and crimes, it would drive anyone insane.  ‘To dwell upon the crimes and injustices that one cannot change brings only madness, for one’s influence can only stretch so far.  It is in bringing justice to those that we touch which brings satisfaction of the code.’

Her words often echoed in his mind especially during times of self doubt.  He was only one man.  How could he change the galaxy?  He couldn’t, but if instead he could make a difference somehow to those around him - his friends, his squad, his lover.  Maybe that was enough.

The Illusive Man and Miranda placed him on a pedestal for stopping Saren and Sovereign. Was it deserved?  Could anyone else have stopped Sovereign?  Anderson could have and so could any good soldier.  Shepard never understood what made him so special that Cerberus invested billions to resurrect him from the dead.  Resurrection.  Another crazy concept he couldn’t wrap his head around.  He stopped trying to think about that and the philosophical or theological connotations of coming back from the dead never mind how they physically did it.

Was there a soul?  Was he really the same person if there was a soul?  What happened between his death and resurrection and if there was a soul, why couldn’t he remember the time that passed?  If there was no afterlife, what was the point of being good or true?  Why not just look out for himself?  Why should he risk his ass all the time for nothing?  No reward?  Death, darkness, nothing.  He could have a few years with Miranda on a beach somewhere.  Or a few years with Garrus at the bars or just relaxing and not dodging bullets.

He was tired, beyond tired.  The war never ended and all he wanted to do was stop.  Rest … breathe.  He scanned the shuttle again.

Miranda leaned against the far wall, eyes distant in thought.  She wore a form-fitted light plated armor and held a helmet in her hand.  A submachine gun was holstered at her hip.  Across from Miranda sat Jack who leaned forward in the chair with arms resting casually on her knees, feet planted to the floor.  In her hand, she held a pistol and rhythmically twirled it by the trigger guard for a second before catching it at the pistol grip.  The process repeated, the gun swirling, its barrel pointed at Miranda in the process.  The Operative’s eyes shot towards the gun with each swirl but she made no attempt to stop it or interfere.  A stand-off.  Jack challenged, threatening and waiting for Miranda to bite.  But Miranda was too smart to that.  And Jack was too careful.  The intent was not to shoot, Shepard knew, but to make the other nervous.  A taunt.

Garrus approached Shepard from behind.  “Jacob says we’re about five minutes out.  Smooth ride with him behind the controls.  You could sleep like a baby on this thing.  Well if you didn’t know we were off to infiltrate another rogue Cerberus facility.”

“And get shot at,” Tali added beside him.  “Don’t forget being shot at.”

“Well, of course,” Garrus commented, mandibles twitching with amusement.  “That’s a requirement to be in the club.”

Shepard smirked and shook his head.  “I’m pretty sure this isn’t a club most people want to join.”

“That’s right.  Very exclusive.” Tali agreed.

Garrus pointed to the healed but disfiguring scar on his face.  “And the initiation is a real bitch.”

“Hah,” Zaeed scoffed.  “Shepard’s more committed than that pussy scar.  Bastard died and came back for the game.  Can’t top that.”

“Not by choice,” Shepard answered.  Miranda’s eyes darted to his at the words but she made no other reaction.

“That must chafe, Cheerleader,” Jack said and sat back, holstering her pistol at her waist.  “So Shepard, happy to be back in the shit show?”

“Of course,” he answered with a confident grin and slammed an armored palm on Garrus’s chest.  “I wouldn’t miss this.  Can’t have him hogging all the glory.  Alright.  So here’s the plan.  According to our scans, the facility has three landing bases: north, south and west.  From the layout forwarded to me from the Illusive Man, our best bet is to land on the western pad and infiltrate from there.  It’s closest to security and life support.  The entire facility is underground, an entrance about two hundred meters from the landing pad.  After we land, Jacob is going to keep the shuttle on the ground and ready.  I’ll need two volunteers to stay with him and keep the landing pad clear.  Anyone?”

“I’ll stay,” Zaeed volunteered.  “Rather take it easy than get my fuckin’ head blown off by some damn turret with an attitude.”

“I will stay as well, Shepard,” Thane offered with a polite inclination of the head.

“Thanks.  The rest of us will move into the facility.  Secure the entry way.  According to the Illusive Man, there is a checkpoint fifty meters beyond the external door.  It was initially for decontamination and security of the facility.  Once there, we’ll make our next call.”

+++

The shuttle shook and rocked in the volatile atmosphere of the icy planet.  Wind gust and snow whirled in funnel-like patterns.  Shepard tightened his grip on the bar as he braced himself for the landing.  Wind howled as frozen pellets of ice pounded against the sides of the shuttle.  Shepard fastened his helmet to his armored suit.  “Everyone ready?  Sounds like it’ll be hell out there.”

“Why the fuck did I agree to this shit again?” Jack questioned with snark.  

“It was the only way you were getting off that prison ship alive,” Miranda replied coolly.

“That’s what you think,” Jack pointed a finger at Miranda and stepped up to the other woman, hostile.  “I could have flayed you alive, Cerberus bitch.”

“Save it for later,” Shepard interrupted, taking the assault rifle from his back.

“Yeah,” Zaeed added.  “And we’ll have ya roll around in a ring too.  Be good for morale.”

“Focus!” Shepard commanded and slammed his fist into the trigger button for the door of the shuttle.  The door swung upwards and a blast of wind whirled into the shuttle; Shepard staggered at the blow but leaned forward.  “Move out!  Grunt, you’re on point.”

Grunt casually pulled the shotgun from his back and jumped out of the shuttle, landing hard on the landing pad.  He sunk into the snow up to his knees.  “It’s deep here, Shepard.”

Samara gracefully exited, her biotics flared but with the harsh conditions, even she sunk into the snow.  Shepard followed and turned his back into the wind as he tapped on his omni-tool.  He pointed to his left.  “That way.  West … two hundred meters.”

“I can get us through the snow,” Samara called to the Commander.  “Stay behind me.”  The asari outstretched her hands and from her body a spherical biotic bubble erupted.  The energy of the bubble pushed the surrounding snow out in a puff of white powder.  The bubble retracted, the asari stepped forward and the biotics exploded out again.

The squad moved slowly through the snow behind Samara’s lead but within an hour, they reached the sealed doors of the nearest building.  “Tali, get the door,” Shepard ordered and stood beside Grunt, assault rifle raised and pointed at the door.  Grunt readied his shotgun as Shepard motioned the rest of his squad to stay in cover at the side.

Tali worked quickly, hacking the locked system.  “It keeps overriding my attempts.  It is … changing the entry code before I can hack it.”

Grunt shook his head and pushed towards the terminal.  “Make way.”  He shoved Tali aside and glared at the terminal.

A metallic and monotone voice spoke over the communications network.  “Access denied.”

Grunt pointed his shotgun at the terminal.

“Wait!” Tali called and reached out.

Grunt fired.  “Too late.”  The console shorted and sparked, black and singed from the blast.

Shepard shook his head and activated the holographic bayonet blade of his weapon.  “Garrus.  Take point.  Grunt, the door.”  He stabbed the bayonet blade into the seam at the center of the closed main door.  He moved the gun back then forth, carefully prying the door.

Grunt stood ready at Shepard’s side and he quickly gripped the door when Shepard inched the door open, Grunt braced it.  With a low roar, he pushed on the door, forcing it to open and the krogan stepped into the doorway, arms extended as he held it open.  “Get moving, Shepard,” he growled, muscles trembling with the strain.

“Everybody in,” Shepard motioned to the door.  “Go, Garrus.  Go.”

Without hesitation, the turian ducked under Grunt’s arm and stepped through the doors into the darkened building.  The team moved quickly and once all were inside, Grunt jumped in and the doors slammed closed behind him.

“I assume you have a plan to get us out?” Miranda asked.

“Psh, I always have a plan,” Shepard replied with a grin.  “Ready?” He asked Grunt.

“I usually hate his plans,” Tali commented.

The Krogan nodded and steadily moved forward.  Shepard followed, instructing Garrus to watch their backs.  The corridor was eerily quiet, cold and sterile with grated flooring and metallic walls.  Emergency lighting flickered on then off in a sickening strobe effect.  “All this for a computer …” Grunt grumbled.

“What was so important in this base anyway?” Garrus asked.

“It’s probably as fucked up as the last two,” Jack said.

“Geth experiments and then a Reaper.” Garrus stated.  “There is no way this place can be worse than either of those.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Jack muttered.  

As they neared the end of the corridor, the lights flickered and dimmed.  A rhythmic whirring sound emitted from the corridor on the left and Grunt peered around the edge.  “Turret.  On the ceiling.  I see glass on either side.  Like the tank.”

“Security is still activated but no life support,” Miranda noted.  “It’s just like Jaharre station.  Illusive Man was right.”

“Illusive Man …” Jack scoffed and shook her head.  “You just keep bending over for him, don’t you, Cheerleader.  The great ass fucker of the galaxy.”

“Jack, cool it,” Shepard barked sensing the tension in Miranda; he didn’t blame her.  “Kasumi, can your cloak keep you hidden from the turret?”

Samara watched the exchange, stoically though with curious interest.  Miranda met the Justicar’s gaze with confidence and cool control.  The operative casually averted her eyes and checked the condition of the magazine of her submachine gun.

Kasumi shook her head.  “I don’t know about that, Shep.  It depends on the sensitivity of the trackers.  Before I try that kind of stuff, I do my homework.”

Garrus sauntered through the crowd, sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.  “I got this.”

“You sure about that?” Shepard asked.  “If it spots you before you get it in your sights...” he trailed off.

“I’ll get it in my sights,” Garrus said and crouched onto one knee at the corner of the corridor.  He carefully placed his barrel around the edge and rested his elbow on his knee for balance.  His gaze focused through the scope of the sniper rifle.  Three barrels extended from the circular turret scanning first left then right in rhythmic motion.  Garrus aimed over the barrels at the square brace upon which the turret rotated.  He fired.  The turret absorbed the charge, displaying no change.  “There must be a shield.  It didn’t do anything.  Can you strip it?”

“Strip shield.  Yes.  Can be done,” Mordin answered with a curt nod.  “Need better positioning.  Find cover within better line of sight.  I will attack from there.”

“There’s a … doorway about 20 feet ahead of this point.  That’s all I see,” Garrus said.  “Could be a risky run.  We don’t know when the turret will activate.”

“Other solutions?” Mordin asked and he searched the surrounding area.  “Ducts.  Possible.  Crawl through ducts and attempt to reach security terminals.  Shut down turret from there.”

“Ducts?” Kasumi shook her head.  “Oh no.  Not again.”

Miranda slipped passed Kasumi and Mordin to stand at Garrus’s side.  She rested a hand on his shoulder to indicate to him her presence and then crouched behind him.  “Have you ever seen that kind of turret before when you were at C-Sec?”

Garrus shook his head, still aiming through the scope.  “No.  You?  Figured you’d have seen more Cerberus security systems than I have.”

“It’s hard to tell,” she answered.  “The ones I have experience with have about a ten meter range in about 240 degree radius.”  She sighed.  “By the time they come up with a plan, I can be in that doorway.”

“Your call, Lawson, if you want to make that run.”

She nodded slowly and clenched the grip of her gun.  “Can you overload with your omni-tool?”

He nodded.  “Sure.  But that won’t do us any good if I’m trying to shoot it out.  You’ll have to strip most of the shields.”

“Alright.” Miranda stood and bent her knees, preparing to sprint.  A biotic field emerged from her, encasing her, shielding her.  She ignored Shepard’s questioning tone when he called her name and sprung quickly from cover before he could stop her.

She raced across the expanse towards the doorway, raising her gun to fire upon the turret, drawing its attention.  At the five foot point of her sprint, the turret fired, continuous shots in rapid succession.  Gunfire echoed behind her.  The turret fire blasted against her shield and she quickened her pace, pushing hard to reach the cover before her shields failed.  Too late.

Within feet of the cover, her biotics flickered, drained.  She panted, winded from holding the biotic shield and also the sprint.  Three shots struck her, one on the arm, one on the hip and another grazed the back of her head.  The impact dented her armor, crushing the metal inward and pinching the skin on her arm.  She reached cover and pressed her back against the doorway, out of the line of fire.  Thankfully, the armor prevented any serious injury from the turret fire though she was certain her hip and arm would bruise from the impact.  Her suit in tact, she sighed in relief.

But the turret still fired and swung back towards the squad.  Miranda’s eyes followed and she frowned as Shepard charged across the distance.  He was only ten feet away.  Without shields, he was more susceptible to the gunfire and his armor dented at the shoulders and side five times before he squeezed into the doorway with her.  Part of him still partially exposed, he pressed against her, pinning her with his body to the metallic doorway.  They barely fit, enough of his exposed side to draw continuous fire from the turret although the gunfire never hit.

“What are you doing!” she hissed, eyes narrowed on his through her helmet.  Only her eyes were visible through the visor, her nose and mouth covered with a dark black mask for oxygen.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he snapped.  His helmet masked his expression but he was seething with worry.  “Why would you do that?  There could have been another way!”

“And while you were thinking about it, this was a perfectly viable option.  Though with you here now, I don’t know how I’m going to overload its shields.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the commander of this mission and I will not have my team taking drastic risks just to prove a point or because they think they can.  My mission.  My call.”

“And I’m a competent operative that gets results when I see it.” Miranda countered.  “So feel free to waste time talking over different solutions when a perfectly viable solution was offered.”

“We can hear you,” Garrus interrupted.  “And as entertaining as this made-for-extranet movie is, can we disable the turret now?  It’s getting cramped over here.  Oh, and Shepard, get out of the way.  The turret is still firing at you.”

Shepard pivoted at the hip and molded his back against the sealed door.  He crowded into the corner, closer to Miranda though both barely kept in cover.  “Don’t do it again,” he warned.

“Then stop wasting time,” she bit back and tapped her fingers on her omni-tool.  She peered around the corner, let her biotics flare into a shield and reached around the edge, firing an electrical shock at the turret.  The turret returned fire; Miranda turned away back into cover.

Shepard muttered a curse and slammed the palm of his hand against the side of his helmet once, then again as he forced the communications switch to change to the channel he shared with only Miranda.  “God damn it, woman,” he grabbed her arm and stared down at her intensely, though she could not see the expression behind his colored visor.  “I don’t want to lose you to some stray turret fire.”

“Despite what you may have heard, I earned my position as an operative.  A turret is nothing.”   Miranda shrugged out of his grasp and tapped her fingers on her omni-tool again.  She aimed around the corner then fired an overloading charge at the turret.  She ducked back into cover again when the turret fired.

Mordin fired an overloading charge from his omni-tool as did Kasumi.  The turret turned to aim towards Mordin and Kasumi near where Garrus knelt.  A ball of biotic energy flew from Samara’s outstretched hand, wrapping around the turret and pulsed, draining.  Jack extended her arms, emitting and holding a large biotic shield around Garrus, Kasumi and Mordin.  The four continued the pattern and after the third round, Garrus fired his rifle.  The shot impacted the turret.  Garrus reloaded and fired again.  The turret dangled by a single wire, swinging.  Its aim uncertain, it fired wildly.  Miranda turned away and Garrus fired once again.  The turret dropped.

“Miranda,” Shepard said, softly and rested a hand on her hip.  

She sighed and holstered her weapon.  “What, Shepard?  It worked.  I won’t do it again.  That’s what you want to hear.”

“Hey,” he pressed a hand against the doorway to block her.  When she shifted her weight impatiently, he tilted his head and watched her.  “I get it.  Jack rubs you the wrong way and probably being here right now is not where you want to be.  It gives anyone more ammunition against Cerberus and you.  But I need you focused.  You don’t owe them anything.”

“I know that,” she snapped and shook her head.  “I’m … sorry.  I’m fine.

“I know you are.  You will be,” he said confidently and his tone lightened.  “Plus, I don’t want anything happening to you.  I need you in one piece when we get back to bed.”

She chuckled, tension easing from her.  “I’ll be good.” She pushed at his chest.  “Promise.”

“Mmm, that you are, Ms. Lawson,” his voice teased and when she laughed, he smiled, turning his communications channel back to ‘All’.

The team moved passed the turret.  Grunt stepped up to the door and worked on prying it open.  “I’ll need a few on this one, Shepard.”

Shepard nodded and stepped up to the glass on one side of the hallway, looking inside.  On the left was a long table extending near the corridor with four consoles.  Chairs were pushed back as if abandoned in a rush.  His brow knitted at the white heap half hidden by the table.  He pressed a hand against the glass and lifted up onto his toes, stretching to get a better look.

It was a body, half of it.  A long leg and hip were visible sticking out from under the table, motionless.  Shepard muttered a curse as Samara stepped up to his side.  He shook his head.  “Suffocated at their post.”

Miranda peered through the opposite window, stretching to look down at the floor.  Two bodies.

“Here too, Shepard,” Mordin noted from beside Miranda.  

“Got it!” Grunt called, as the door fully opened.  The team raced through the door and once clear, Grunt entered as well.  The door slammed closed.

+++

Shepard stood in the central security station, hands pressed into the center table.  Emergency lighting flickered along the ceiling.  Monitors paneled two of the walls and upon the table was an elaborate blueprint of the station.  Upon entering the security station, six bodies scattered on the floor, frozen.  Life support systems and power systems were malfunctioning.  Shepard pointed to a square shaped room on the opposite end of the station.  “It is not possible for power systems to have failed.  If that was true, the turrets wouldn’t be working.”

“Then they’ve all been diverted to the security system,” Garrus answered.  “What other explanation is there?  The entire place is locked down and we’re lucky there’s emergency lighting.”

“Alright, so we get the power restored.  Then we restore life support.” Shepard said.  “Do you think there is any chance of survivors?”

“Truthfully, I doubt it,” Miranda replied.  “Not only is the oxygen level low, but temperatures are as well.”

“Shepard, you need to see this,” Tali called from across the room.

He left the center table to stand beside the engineer.  “What do you have?”

“I’ve been going through the video recordings for the facility before the power outage.” Tali said and brought up a visual on one of the monitors.  “This one is dated three weeks ago.”

Two security personnel armed with pistols stood at the doorway of the VI core.  They paced, rhythmically - patrolling.  The door burst open and in rushed a crazed woman, her hand raised with a shaky pistol.  Without hesitation, she fired upon the one guard and rushed the console.  The other guard charged her, gripping her legs to drag her to the ground.  Tackled, the two tumbled to the floor.  The woman struggled, kicking and flailing and she twisted beneath the guard to fire again.  She turned quickly and brought a knee up between the guard’s legs.  The guard rolled to the side and heaved, clutching his groin.  The woman scrambled forward and flung herself at the VI console, slamming her fist into a multitude of buttons.  A red warning light swirled overhead and the VI core doors closed, locked.  Gas vented into the room.  Within 30 seconds, all movement within ceased as they suffocated.

“What did she push?” Shepard asked.  “What happened?”

“From the best I can tell, it appears she activated some kind of self destruct button.  The VI initiated self destruct protocols for the entire facility.”

“Sabotage.” Garrus said with a slow shake of his head.

“What the hell were they doing here to make one of their own try to destroy the place?” Shepard whispered.

Miranda rounded the center table, expression focused as she approached Tali and Shepard.  “Show that again.  Is there any record of who she is?”

“No,” Tali answered with a short shake of the head as she replayed the video footage.  “This console only has the security video feed.  No personnel files.”

“Why?  What are you thinking?” Shepard asked, curiously.

“Shepard, Wilson tried to sabotage Project Lazarus.  If you didn’t wake up …” She tapped her fingers impatiently on her hip as she watches the video footage with intent concentration.  “You were my project, Shepard, and if Wilson tried to destroy you … what did she want to destroy here?”

“Who gives a shit?” Jack stated and jumped off the counter on which she sat.  “The place is empty.  Get the shuttle up and we leave.  End of mission.”

“And what if there’s another you here, Jack?” Shepard challenged the biotic.  “Should we just leave them?  Maybe tied down, plugged into something … strapped to a table.”

Jack crossed her arms, leaning into a hip as she watched Miranda’s reaction.  “What, Cheerleader?  Nothing?  No defense?  Pfft,” she waved a dismissive hand to Miranda and after an extended pause, shook her head and scoffed.  “Alright, Shepard.  Let’s see what poor bastard Cerberus is fucking with now.”

Shepard reached for Miranda, resting a hand casually on the small of her back.  The act meant to offer comfort but also solidarity with the operative despite the harsh judgment he and others shared against Cerberus practice.  “Miranda, what are the odds that whatever or whoever the experiment was here is still intact?”

“Better than finding any other survivor.” Miranda replied, simply.  “The operative in charge of any cell has one duty.  To ensure the survival of either the subject or the data.”

“At all costs?” Shepard asked.

“Yes,” she nodded.  “All costs.  If you did not wake up on that space station when I was calling to you, I would have gone to you.  You were more important than anyone else in that cell.”

“I weigh more than you,” he noted.  “And no offense, but you can’t lift me and your biotics couldn’t have lasted long enough for you to move me.”

“There are ways.  I would have gotten you onto a life pod at the expense of everyone on that station, including myself.  The Illusive Man would have found you and you’d be right here, right now.  But I don’t know what this cell was for.”

“Couldn’t hurt to have some more backup, Shepard,” Garrus said.  “We could use everyone we can find against the Collectors.”

Jack scoffed.  “Yeah, right.  If the poor asshole is any condition to speak.  Nevermind, fight.”

“If we’re staying here, we’re going to need to get the life support and power system back online.” Shepard said.  “But if we can’t get the life support systems up, we’re going to have to extract.  Our suits can only last so long.” He pressed his fingers to the side of his helmet, gloved fingers seeking the switch to control his communications channels.  “Jacob, do you read me?”

“Yes, sir.” Jacob answered.

“How soon can you get us in the air?”

“Depends, sir,” Jacob said.  “Massive storm on its way.  Either we extract within the hour … or it could be a couple of days.  Radar is showing it’s pretty big.”

Shepard paced to the monitors then back again.  “Alright, Jacob, be ready to take off in half an hour.  The rest of you, we’re on the clock now.  We’ll need to split up.  I need a team to get the power systems online.  Once that’s online, then the life support.  I’ll have a team at the VI core, ready to restart the system.  Mordin, stay here and turn off the security protocols once the power is fully restored.  It may be the only way the rest of us can get to our systems.  Garrus, take a team for the Power systems.  Miranda, give Garrus a ten minute head start then take a team to Life Support.”

Jack pointed at Shepard.  “Don’t even think about putting me with that bitch.”

“Then go with Garrus.” Shepard said.  “You too, Tali.”

“I will go with Operative Lawson,” Samara volunteered, voice lulling with grace and calm.

“Me too,” Kasumi offered.  “Well … as long as there’s no ducts.”

Shepard nodded his thanks.  “If we can’t do this within 45 minutes, rendezvous at the entrance we came in.  I’ll send Grunt there to open the doors.”

+++

Miranda, Samara and Kasumi weaved through the complex corridors of the Cerberus facility.  As they rounded a corner, Miranda froze.  Two bodies lay across the floor fifty feet ahead on their stomachs.  Brown blood stained their white lab coats in multiple places.  “There’s no turret,” Samara noted.  “Something else killed these people.”

“Mechs,” Miranda answered.  “Most facilities have them.  Security personnel are usually at a minimum.  Mechs are used for most security protocols.”  She knelt beside the corpses, feeling the pulse point of each.  With a slow shake of the head, she stood and continued down the hall.  

The door at the end opened, revealing an open spaced loading bay.  Two shuttles elevated over the floor.  Shipping crates were stacked in corners and sporadically throughout the bay, some ready for transport, others opened as if a delivery had been checked.  Miranda gripped her gun, firmly and slipped into the bay, crouched low as she ducked behind cover to get a closer look around the room.  Samara joined her to one side, Kasumi the other.

“Intruder … Alert.”

The doors slammed closed and locked around the room as four heavy mechs activated, metallic limbs twitching and guns armed.  Samara’s biotics surged and Kasumi cloaked.  Miranda ducked lower behind the cover as two mechs fired towards the crates behind which Miranda hid.  “Garrus!” she called into her communications device.

No response.

“Garrus?  Come in.”

Nothing.

“Miranda, what’s happening?” Shepard said, voice crackled with distortion.

“It’s hot in here, Shep,” Kasumi answered.  “Wherever Garrus is, he better hurry.”


	25. Chapter 25

Shepard pressed his palms into the top of the table, the holographic blueprint of the Cerberus facility flickering as it drew on the remaining emergency power reserves.  He divided both teams to make a forceful push upon the facility, trusting both Garrus and Miranda to lead their squad and complete their objectives. However, both teams had gone dark, the communications hazy from the interference - likely the fault of the rogue VI in the station.  He was initially going to go to the VI core and attempt to override or at least reset the computer, but with his team divided and in trouble, his priorities changed.

Garrus led one squad into the power core to restore full power to the facility.  The initial push appeared clear with no complications until ten standard security mechs guarding the entrance activated. Forced to retreat and regroup, Garrus attempted to flank the mechs. The plan backfired, and currently, Garrus's team sat pinned in a dangerously narrow corridor with no cover.  Communications ceased at the start of the battle; the static from the VI blocked any report from Garrus.

Miranda led a second squad towards the life support systems, and with a storm approaching, their survival depended on its reactivation.  In order to do that, the power needed to be restored.  Miranda and her team were in the loading bay between Shepard's location and the life support systems. Until Garrus fully restored power, Mordin couldn’t override the security console to deactivate the mechs attacking his team.

He had to help them, but should he choose Garrus or Miranda?  Rationally, he knew the power systems were top priority, and nothing could be done without full power restoration. He burned to rush to Miranda’s side and ensure she survived but resisted the temptation.

“Garrus.” he paused, allowing time for the turian to respond.  A dull static echoed over the communications, a haunting reminder to the missing team.  “Garrus, respond,” Shepard demanded, fingers tapping in rhythmic succession over the table.  Accepting that any communication with his teams was silent, he assessed the best route possible to reach Garrus’s point.  Without power, the life support systems could not be activated and they would die within the next few hours.

But the VI core was just as important as the life support systems.  If they could not stop the rogue VI once power was restored, it would be a constant back-and-forth between Shepard’s team and the rogue VI.  “Legion,” Shepard peered over his shoulder at the geth.  “How long will it take you to override the VI and take control of the facility?”

The metallic mandibles of the geth twitched, opening and closing as if processing thought.  “We will have no difficulty overriding the Cerberus systems.”

“But how long?”

The bright light on the center of the head of the geth unit pulsed.  “If the system is similar to that on the Normandy … three point four minutes with 87% chance of success.”

The answer surprised Shepard.  Would it only take three minutes for a single geth unit to hack into the Normandy system?  A suspicion nagged in the back of his mind.  Legion scouted, followed Shepard’s trail but Shepard wondered about Legion’s true purpose. Was it really curiosity for information or more along the lines of reconnaissance?  The doubt was palpable but was it justified?  The conflict with the geth was years ago; yet to Shepard, the timing was mere months.  He wondered how many geth were hunted and destroyed in the blind extermination following Saren’s failed coup.  

The main question in his mind, however, was could geth lie?  Did he believe Legion’s explanation of the geth war, a division between Saren’s followers and other geth.  A programming error - if it could be called an error.  Programming difference.  And what if there was more than one geth? They became stronger and computed faster in greater numbers. So what if more than one geth had a programming difference?

Could that difference spread to other members of the group? And what if one willingly decided to choose a differing answer. Or was it a program? If it purposefully chose an incorrect answer, is that a lie? Could a program lie?

Shepard sighed and focused on the pulsing red points on the holographic map indicating the location of his team.  He wasn't smart enough for this kind of philosophical debate. His team didn’t have time for his hesitation and they needed help now.  The main question was could he trust Legion with the systems of the Cerberus facility? Did he want to hand over the control of the facility to a geth?

He didn't have a choice. “Legion, go to the VI core and once power is restored, I need you to access and override the system.”

“We will comply,” Legion responded and left.

Shepard pressed his fingers to the side of his helmet. “Joker, come in.”

“Hey, Commander,” Joker drawled, sounding bored.

“How are things up there?” Shepard asked as he secured his gauntlets, tightening the straps before picking up his shotgun from the table.

“Oh, you know. Peachy. Just floatin' around. Waiting for you.”

Shepard rolled his eyes and moved quickly down the corridor with Mordin to Garrus's last known location. “I meant with the upgrades? The reason why all of us are down here?”

“Going according to plan. EDI's magical countdown says … uhm … four hours fifteen minutes. Plus or minus, you know,” Joker answered.

“Alright. We might be stuck down here,” Shepard said. “There's a storm coming through. Keep me posted. Shepard out.”

+++

Miranda swallowed hard, pressed firmly against the cylindrical containers in the loading bay. She turned her head away, eyes closed reflexively as two mechs fired upon her position, the rounds ricocheting off the metallic casings then the loading machines. When the mechs stopped firing, she waited and listened to the creaking and grinding of their metal joints as they scanned the facility for movement, then walked towards her. She glanced around quickly, eyes narrowed as she spotted Kasumi climbing a yellow crane and leap onto a grated catwalk.

The mechs stopped at the very faint sound of the thief moving and with feet fixed, pivoted so their guns tracked towards the sound. Samara peered out from behind a wide metallic pillar, her eyes calm as she evaluated the battlefield. Blue biotic energy pulsed in one hand and she clenched her fingers, gathering the energy. Bracing for balance, she thrust the biotic energy outward, the blue field swirling around and surrounding the closest mech.

Hearing the distinct sound of a biotic reave, Miranda gathered her own biotic energy, charging until her right arm nearly shook with the intensity. Lifting up onto her knees, she threw the twirling ball of biotic energy at the biotically charged mech then ducked as the biotic fields clashed and exploded, staggering the mech. Its shields stuttered and trembled.

The mech turned towards Miranda and fired again, the operative diving low to dodge the spray. She covered her head with her arms and squinted at the sparks springing from the metal. Bullets pierced the cover, shaving off the tops of the cylindrical barrels and one fell back onto Miranda. She grunted at the impact to her shoulders and head then shrugged the barrel half off of herself.

Kasumi balanced along a crossbeam towards a suspended crate and crouched. Programming her omni-tool, she aimed towards the mech focused on Miranda and fired. An electrical spark shot from her omni-tool and landed on the back of the mech. Sizzling, crackling and sparking, the mech stuttered and twitched as the electrical current temporarily short circuited the machine. “Run, Miranda!” Kasumi called as the second mech turned to the rogue, trained its guns towards Kasumi and fired. Miranda fled her cover, racing around the barrels.

A third mech fired as well at Kasumi's back, draining her shields. The rogue cursed and swayed upon the crate then took two steps and leapt off the crate towards a stationary fork lift. A bullet grazed her thigh then calf before she cloaked. Clenching her teeth, she grabbed the crane arm, swung her legs then landed behind a set of crates. Her wounded leg collapsed and she rolled, slid then slammed into the wall.

Samara gathered energy and cast another reave towards the shorted mech, stretching its metallic seams. The biotic surge tugged at the bolts from the metal, cracking the plated armor. The second mech turned and lifted a massive crate overhead then hurled it towards the fallen rogue. Without panic, Samara outstretched a hand and biotic tendrils shot from her palm and grabbed Kasumi. With a yank, Samara pulled the unconscious woman away.

A swirling white ball of biotic energy surged from behind the crane, slamming into the reaved mech and exploded. The mech toppled. Samara gathered Kasumi into her arms and crouched low, pushing the thief underneath the stationary forklift, hiding her beneath and away from the battle. Miranda slipped around the crane, and waited beside Samara. The operative peered under the crane at Kasumi then glanced at the asari, a question in her eyes. Samara simply nodded.

In understanding, Miranda nodded as well then tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling as she released a deep breath. Both listened and Samara pointed to her right then around Miranda's left as if to signal where the two remaining mechs searched.

Kasumi hummed softly as she slowly roused from unconsciousness. Miranda reached out quickly, covering Kasumi's mouth with her gloved hand. The rogue tensed as her eyes popped open and she scanned her surroundings. At Miranda's stern and warning expression, Kasumi offered the slightest of nods. Miranda removed her hand then leaned forward slightly to peer around the back of the crane. She tugged a medi-gel pack from a compartment on her utility belt and handed it to Kasumi.

Kasumi shifted carefully and took the medi-gel pack. Tearing it open with her teeth, she squeezed the packet into each oozing wound on her leg. Her teeth clenched at the cold, the fizzing then the burning as the gel disinfected and effectively sealed the minor wound. The lights flickered then brightened. Kasumi hooked her fingers into Miranda's belt and tugged, queuing her to slide under the fork lift.

Miranda ducked down, sliding under the heavy machinery. When Kasumi tried to coax Samara to hide, the asari shook her head and stood, pressing against the cool metal. Biotics flared from her hands as she waited.

Miranda peered out from under the forklift, her gaze following the patrolling mech. When she shifted to slip out, Kasumi's hand stopped her and the rogue shook her head then pointed to her wounded leg. Miranda checked the wound then rested a hand on Kasumi's thigh in camaraderie. Handing Kasumi the submachine gun from her hip, Miranda slipped out from under the forklift and crept into cover behind a stack of ten foot high crates.

“Miranda,” Shepard's voice crackled over her earpiece. “Miranda, do you copy?”

“I'm here, Shepard,” she whispered and quickly peered around the side of her container to spot the two roaming mechs. “Can't talk.”

“Do you need backup?”

Miranda waited to answer until the patrolling mech passed before answering. “Not if you shut down these mechs.”

One mech paused beside the forklift under which Kasumi hid. Remaining stationary, it pivoted 360 degrees as a red fanned laser shot out from a single point at the center of its chest. Miranda ducked behind her crate to hide from the scan. Her head throbbed, her eyes ached and she swallowed down the nausea, focusing on a single point across the room.

She heard the familiar pulsing of biotic energy and the mech spun then fired upon Samara's location. Miranda conjured her biotics, hand fisted until the white energy swirled in a tight circle. She peeked out quickly then threw the ball of energy at the staggering mech. She ducked back quickly as the impact exploded around the mech. It ignored the forklift and turned on Miranda, firing at the crates.

The wooden crates burst and exploded, shards of the planks flying into the air as the weak and empty crates offered little cover for the mech's suppressive fire. Miranda scrambled away, a bullet puncturing her side through her armor before she could flare her biotic shield. She pressed a hand to the puncture on her left side, clenching her teeth as she dove behind a metallic pillar. Breathing heavily, she sat with her back to the pillar, eyes closed to protect them from the sparks and ricocheting debris. Sweat dripped down her neck and back.

Assault rifle fire followed then another reave as Samara drew the mech's attention away. Miranda pressed her hand against her left side, slender fingers easing into the bullet hole on her armor to find warm oozing fluid. She hissed, slamming her head back against the pylon and involuntarily shivered as the wound sizzled and tingled.

She exhaled sharply and forced her eyes open as she turned her head to the side and tried to quickly spot the mechs. Both focused upon Samara, following the asari away from Miranda and Kasumi. Kasumi, fully cloaked, pulled herself out from under the forklift. She pushed carefully to her feet, heavily favoring her wounded leg. She limped away from the forklift and tapped on her omni-tool. Extending that hand, an overload charge sparked from omni-tool and splashed at the back of one mech. The mech trembled, electrocuted. She quickly ducked behind a stack of metal barrels.

Unable to stand yet, Miranda aimed down the sights of her pistol, firing successive rounds at the back of the electrocuted mech, aiming for the red glass sensors. Once freed of incapacitation, the mech spun, firing upon Miranda. She ducked behind the pillar as the rounds impacted the floor and the metallic pylon. The rounds suddenly stopped. She waited.

Silence.

Miranda peered out from behind the pillar. The mechs stood unmoving from their positions, no light glowing from its sensors.

“Miranda,” Shepard called over the communications. “We have control of the security. Are you alright? Any mechs or turrets should be off.”

“We are clear here, Shepard,” Samara answered him.

“Samara, is everyone ok?” Shepard asked.

Samara walked across the bay towards the pillar behind which Miranda sat. The operative leaned against the pillar, her legs outstretched and eyes closed. Blood and scorch marks marred her armor, the red fluid leaking freely from the a burnt hole. Samara crouched and touched the blackened metal then examined her blood soaked fingers. “Incendiary ammo,” she noted. “Can you stand?”

Miranda's eyes opened and though the pain of her injury was apparent in her dilated eyes, the operative nodded. “Just give me a minute. Where is Kasumi?”

“Not far,” Kasumi answered with a small smirk as she limped around the pylon. Two clean holes were torn through her pants. “Warp rounds.” Then pointed to the nasty charred wound at Miranda's side. “Not as bad as that.”

“We need to get the life support systems back online,” Miranda said and shivered.

“Samara,” Shepard called again, more urgent. “Is everyone ok?”

“You need to stay here,” Samara said, calmly. “You are not ready to move yet.”

“I think she's right,” Kasumi said. “Miranda, you're shaking. I think you're going into shock.” The thief crouched at Miranda's side, quickly working at the fasteners of the operative's armor. “We need to put medi-gel on that.”

“I'll be fine,” Miranda answered confidently then addressed Kasumi. “Go with Samara. You have to bring the life support back online. Or we'll freeze in here through the night.”

Kasumi hesitated but Samara stood and crossed to the far door leading to the Life Support systems. “Shepard, Kasumi and I are continuing on. Miranda is staying in the bay. She is wounded.”

“We're coming,” Shepard's responded.

Kasumi knelt beside Miranda and handed her the submachine gun. “Just in case. And thank you. It looks like I owe you again. We need to stop trading favors like this.”

Miranda managed a small smile. “Go.”

Still, Kasumi hesitated a moment before nodding. She activated her cloak and limped towards a waiting Samara.

Miranda clenched her teeth and tugged at the fasteners for her body armor, loosening them at the side. Once they relieved their hold, the pressure of the armor released and she moaned, head lulling forward as fluid poured from her wound. She swayed, her vision hazing. Breathing heavily, she pushed the pauldron from her left shoulder then yanked open the body armor a little wider, exposing the wound to the cold air.

Miranda pressed harder at her side to stop any bleeding as she fumbled at her leg to pluck her last medi-gel from the small compartment on her thigh. Tearing the tube open with her teeth, she pulled at her catsuit beneath the armor, ripping away the fabric from her wound before squeezing the cooling gel into the scorched and pulsing incendiary wound. She hissed at the icy sensation of the gel plus the chill in the air. The wound burned and pulsed as the medi-gel began to clog the bleeding.

She quaked, trembling from the cold against her skin and the shock of her injuries. Darkness enveloped her and she slumped onto her side.

+++

Shepard raced down the corridor to the loading bay, his armored boots pounding against the grating. Garrus and Mordin followed close behind. As he ran, Mordin tapped continuously on his omni-tool. “Operative Lawson vitals … in distress.”

“Miranda,” Shepard said. “Miranda, answer me.”

Silence.

“She may be unconscious, Shepard,” Garrus stated.

Bursting through the door to the loading bay, the three stopped as eyes scanned the carnage. “Miranda,” Shepard called. When no response came, they spread out in search. Shepard dug through the flayed metallic barrels, clearing away the largest piece with a low grunt.

“Shepard, here,” Garrus called.

Shepard rushed from the metal pile and his eyes widened at the sight of her. She lay partially against a metal pillar, nearly destroyed by bullet rounds. She was slumped to her side and blood pooled at her hip. He murmured her name and fell to his knees at her side. “Can we move her?” he rasped and swallowed his worry.

The vents overhead buzzed, whirled and knocked as the environmental controls came back online. Heat blew from the ducts. Mordin scanned Miranda with his omni-tool, quick but thorough. “We need to get her back to the medical lab. Bleeding has stopped for now. However, condition, critical.”

“Go, get it ready,” Shepard ordered and carefully slipped his arms under her legs then around her waist. “I got ya, Baby,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “I got ya,” he grunted as he stood. She was heavy with the armor but his adrenaline surged.

He followed Mordin from the loading bay. Her head lulled back against his arms and she lay limp, unresponsive. The longer the distance, the more he jostled her and he hated that moving her risked reopening her wounds. No choice. She needed to be in the medical bay.

Rushing inside, Mordin shoved stacked towels and some debris from one of the beds. Shepard lay her gently upon it and he blanched. Her wound had reopened, blood gushing from her. Red coated his armor, warm and sticky. Mordin worked quickly. “Help, Shepard.” He unfastened the clasps of her helmet and carefully took it off.

Shepard yanked the gauntlets from his hands, dropping them to the ground with a loud crash. He fiddled with the remaining ties of her armor and peeled the breastplate from her body. When pauldrons, gloves and chestpiece were removed, Mordin used the blade of his omni-tool to cut away her catsuit near the throat, tearing it open and tugging it down her arms. Shepard eased her hands free and jerked the skin-tight suit down to her waist. Blood continued to flow from her side; her skin paled, nearly translucent.

Mordin rolled a towel and shoved it against the wound. “Hold,” he commanded and turned from Shepard, trusting his order to be obeyed. Shepard pressed hard against the towel. Vicious bruises marred the perfect flesh around her waist and on her shoulder.

Shepard wanted to roar with rage and he trembled with barely contained fury. “Hold on, Baby,” he growled into her ear through clenched teeth. “You hold on. Do you hear me?” He heard the heavy blast of the disinfectant spray and looked up at Mordin.

Mordin wheeled over an arm-like contraption and clamped it to the medical bed. He twisted the joints of the arm until it hovered just over Miranda's waist. He walked away a moment then returned with a tray upon which were a variety of surgical knives, two syringes and a circular tool Shepard never saw before. “When I say. Release,” Mordin said. At Shepard's curt nod, Mordin gathered two tubes of medi-gel and cut them open. Standing next to Shepard, Mordin picked up the first medi-gel tube and exhaled a controlled breath. “Now!”

Shepard released and stepped back. Mordin tore the towel away. Blood oozed. He squeezed the medi-gel into the wound, emptying the first then the second packet. Using long, bony fingers, Mordin pressed the medi-gel fully into the wound, ensuring it coated every pocket. Blood-soaked hands then tugged the arm within an inch of Miranda's body and he flicked a switch.

Searing red light burst from the wand and directly onto Miranda's wound. Her body bowed, trembled in involuntary reflex to the pain as the light seared the medi-gel, cauterizing the wound to stop bleeding. Shepard's stomach dropped and he gagged. Every muscle in her body had clenched as she arched off the table and her mouth opened in a silent cry. After ten excruciating seconds, Mordin turned off the light and she flopped back onto the table, limp. She panted softly, sweat lining her brow. The medi-gel in the wound bubbled.

“Holy shit.”

Shepard turned at that, his eyes crazed as they focused upon the other medical bed. He didn't even notice it was occupied. Jack watched the procedure with wide eyes as she held a damp cloth to her shoulder. He swallowed hard and turned back to Mordin, a question on his tongue. He was unwilling to interrupt.

Mordin pushed the medical wand away and leaned close to inspect the wound. With a relieved sigh, he leaned back and nodded. He placed the wand back into position and changed its intensity before turning it back on again. “Still critical. Need time.” He picked up one of the surgical knives then paused and looked back over his shoulder at Shepard. “You may not want to watch this.”

“Why?” Shepard licked his parched lips, eyes unwavering from Miranda's face.

“Must remove dead tissue before healed.” He held up the scalpel. “Quickest way.”

“Just do it,” Shepard commanded and watched intensely. But the moment Mordin cut into the flesh beneath the red light, Shepard looked away and closed his eyes. Clenching his teeth, he stormed from the medical bay.

+++

Miranda slowly grew aware of her surroundings. She lay upon a cool metallic table, her signature suit pulled down off her arms and chest to settle around her waist exposing her black bra. Her left side tingled, the skin stretched tight and a stiff. Her eyes fluttered open and she squinted at the offending bright florescence overhead before peering down her body. Her wounded side was mostly healed, heavily bruised, and covered in blood but the scorch marks and the hole were gone. A thick metallic wand hovered a couple of inches over the injury and with each pulse emitted, she felt the tingling intensify then still.

Her eyes wandered around the room then settled upon the neighboring medical bed. Jack lay upon it, a medical wand hovering over her shoulder. Her eyes were closed and she appeared at peace, younger and even innocent. “What are you looking at, Cheerleader?” Jack snarked, her lip curled.

Miranda sighed and she struggled to keep her eyes open. “Where are we?”

“Med lab,” Jack barked then turned her head to look at Miranda a long moment before asking flippantly. “What got you?”

“You actually care?” Miranda inquired, cooly.

“Hmmf,” Jack scoffed and glared. “Whatever. Just don’t want you dropping before I have the chance to warp your throat out.”

“Mmm, don’t worry. I will still throw you over a balcony when we reach Omega.”

“Hah!” Jack shook her head and closed her eyes again, though she was more amused than hostile.

After nearly a minute of silence, Miranda glanced at Jack. “Mech,” she offered, watching the other woman cautiously. “You?”

For some time, it appeared Jack would not answer or that she had not even heard Miranda’s response. When Miranda turned away to relax again, Jack responded. “Turret.”

Mordin entered the bay and inspected Jack’s wound, then tapped his fingers along the console to adjust the intensity of the healing ultrasound wand. When he turned to Miranda, she opened her eyes to watch him. He recoiled slightly in dramatic fashion. “Operative, good to see you awake.” He pushed away the wand from her waist then bent over, his face within inches of her flesh as he inspected the wound then prodded at the pale edges of the thin scar. “Improving greatly. Another three hours. You're very lucky.” He put the wand in place then circled the bed.

He picked up a long cylindrical tube and light illuminated from the tip. He hovered over Miranda and held the light up. “Follow the light. Yes … left. Good now up … down …” he shone the light in her eyes and she flinched slightly but tried to focus. “Concussion probable. Need time. Rest. Minimum three days. With treatments.”

“Hmmf,” Jack grinned. “Pussy.”

Miranda glanced to the biotic then quipped. “Not in your bloody lifetime.”

Jack turned quickly, narrowed eyes focused on the operative and she sneered when Miranda watched her calmly. As Miranda arched a single brow in response, Jack growled. “You wish. Like I’d touch your biotic cock holster.”

“Not even in your dreams,” Miranda replied simply and relaxed back into the medical bed, eyes closed.

Surprised at Miranda’s retort, Jack stared a second then growled. “Fuck you, bitch.” She settled as well, eyes closing. “Fuck you.”

Miranda passed out.

+++

When Miranda awoke again, it was to the sound of hushed voices in the room. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to rouse but her head throbbed and she was just so tired.

“I can take her to sleep in a room. It’ll be more comfortable.” Shepard said, softly.

“Cannot recommend that,” Mordin answered. “Her injuries are just healed. And her concussion may be severe. Not sure. Human physiology not my specialty. Normandy communications still down. Cannot reach Dr. Chakwas. It is better Operative Lawson remain here. I can reassess every few hours. Ensure she wakes up. Medical equipment immediately available.”

“I can keep an eye on her. I know concussions. Just can't sleep too long, and as long as I can wake her up, she's fine. You need to sleep too.” Shepard replied. “We will be just down the hall and if there is anything wrong, I can get you right away.” He turned to the bed and carefully ran a hand over her stomach to rest on the pale pink area of the newly healed wound.

Miranda shivered at the touch, his hand calloused and warm. She felt him slip an arm under her knees as the other slid under her back and he lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest so her head pillowed near his shoulder. He wore no armor. She wanted to fight him, to resist but he was so warm, strong and familiar. She was comforted in his arms and that both exhilarated and frightened her.

“I promise.” Shepard tried to reassure Mordin. “We won’t be far. And we have at least another twelve hours until this storm is over. We aren’t going anywhere. If she’s concussed, she doesn’t need the bright lights in here.”

Miranda sighed at the sensation in his arms as if surrounded by him. His throat and chest vibrated with his words, the rumble of his baritone timbre threaded through her and settled in her stomach. She hated how just his voice could make her coil with desire as if dousing her in awareness of him and memories of everything they shared. She hated how helpless she felt in his arms, hardly able to wake and completely vulnerable as if entirely bendable to his will. And she despised that deep down, a part of her liked it.

As Shepard left the medical bay, Miranda opened her eyes. Groggy and a little dizzy, she sighed, sliding an arm up his chest to cup the side of his throat. Her suit was still pulled down around her waist and she felt chilled and exposed. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her a little higher as he readjusted his grip.

He carried her into an empty dormitory room and gently laid her upon the bed. In the near darkness, she forced her eyes open to watch him. He closed the door and privacy screen then returned to her side. He smiled at her and knelt. “Hey, Beautiful. How’s your head?” He brushed thick fingers over her cheek then trailed that hand down to help pull her suit off her hips and down her legs. Her boots removed long ago, he had no trouble peeling the damaged suit from her body and he tossed it to a chair in the corner of the room.

“Dizzy … and I’m just really tired,” she answered softly.

“Yeah, Samara said you took a nasty hit to the back of your head.” He slid his fingers through her hair to gently massage the back of her neck. “And Kasumi said you saved her life.”

“Samara saved her life,” Miranda clarified. “I just helped keep her hidden while the medi-gel healed her. So why are you undressing me?” Her glazed eyes flickered with amusement and she hummed contently, muscles melting at the firm ministrations of his fingers on her tense neck.

“Well, that should be obvious,” he matched her teasing. “I prefer you naked in bed.” At her chuckle, his gaze slid down her body and his large hand followed, caressing from her neck to her stomach. “You scared me.” His eyes skimmed her face then focused upon the discolored bruises on her arm and shoulder.

“Now you know what it’s like.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “Doesn’t mean I like it. This was way too close.” He searched her glazed eyes and desire punched him at the sultry drowsy expression. Though he rationalized it was from the concussion, his body did not know the difference. He kissed her softly and sighed when she cupped his cheek.

“What happened?” She whispered when he pulled back. “I remember telling Kasumi to go with Samara then getting my armor off to put the medi-gel on. It was cold,” her brow furrowed as she tried to force the memory. She sighed. “But nothing after that.”

“When Samara checked in and not you, I knew something was wrong. Garrus, Mordin and I were on our way by the time she told us you were hurt. When we got to the hangar bay, Samara and Kasumi were gone. We searched for you, but you didn’t respond to our calls. Garrus found you near some exploded crates and metal rubble. I carried you back here. That was maybe … ten hours ago.”

“Ten hours,” she frowned, eyes distant as she tried to remember then she glanced down at her side and pushed his hand down to her hip so she could see where the wound once was. “How is Kasumi?”

“She’s alright. Bit of a limp, but she’s ok. Said you took the brunt of the fire. It’s a good thing they were able to get the life support on,” Shepard said and tugged his shirt over his head. He leaned down, nuzzling her exposed stomach then swirled his tongue teasingly along her navel as he peered up at her. At her sigh and the fluttering of her eyes, he brushed his mouth towards her wound to kiss the freshly healed area. “Mordin said that another fifteen minutes and the cold in the hangar would have …” he trailed off and eased back to stare absently at her abdomen, fingers tracing a circular pattern near her hip.

She brushed her chilled fingers along the back of his neck. “You’re not angry.”

He shivered at the touch and kissed down to her hip. He teasingly tugged at the band of her panties, running his tongue along her lower abdomen and under the band. He grinned when she stiffened. “I was angry 9 hours ago. I’m over it.”

Her stomach dropped at the feel of his tongue and she trembled when he moved lower. Despite the coiling inside her, she stopped him. “You’re improving. A few months ago, you would have exploded at me.”

“Oh, I exploded,” he grinned and slid a hand lower along her thigh. “You just weren’t conscious for it. And all the mechs in the loading bay might be scrap metal.” His eyes raked down her body to focus on her waist then hips. His fingers toyed with that tantalizing band. “I need to taste you,” he growled, his voice husked with unadulterated lust.

A swift expulsion of air escaped her at the admission and she nearly came undone at the hunger in his eyes and his rugged tone. “Shepard...” she trailed off. Was that her voice? Never before had she experienced the intimate act he craved because she never gave that much control to her lover. She never completely submitted her body to them. But to have Shepard there? To give into him?

Her mind raced with the vision of him buried between her thighs and her stomach knotted, her core clenching. She was torn between begging him to do it and hating him for her weakness.

His eyes darted to hers at her purr and he groaned at the dazed desire in her eyes. He cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb over her full lower lip and he hummed when she pursed her lips against the pad of his thumb. “God damn, you're so sexy,” he whispered and his Adam's apple bobbed. “You have that 'Come here, John, and ravage me' look.” He grinned, eyes glimmering when he teased, “But it might be the concussion.”

She arched a single brow at him, unimpressed, stoic and chilled. “I see. So are you insinuating that I am not usually sexy?”

His lips parted in a shaky sigh as he stared at her luscious mouth. “The last time you looked at me like that, you nearly sucked the tongue out of my mouth.”

“Oh really? When was that?”

Shepard tickled a single finger down her throat and arms before he lifted her hand, examining the long delicate fingers. He adored her hands. Too often, she wore gloves, and even during some of her amazing biotic massages, they remained on. He craved the feel of her skin, her body and especially her hands. When her hands were free of her gloves, it was because nothing else was between them, no fears, no barriers, no walls. “We were in my quarters and I was kissing you. You needed practice, after all.” He kissed the tip of her index finger then pressed his lips to the center of her palm. “And you knocked me onto my back.” He flicked his tongue and his chest puffed in triumph at her shudder. “And your biotics flared.”

She chuckled and curled her fingers, the tips brushing under his chin. “I knew you loved it. You always like me on top.” She blinked slowly, struggling to keep her eyes open. “John,” she whispered and when he paused to look up at her, she smiled softly. “As much as I want you right now, I don't know if I can keep up.”

His heart swelled and he kissed her, sweetly. He loved when she used his first name. It was a rare occurrence but happened more often lately, usually during passion, comfort or when her walls receded. “I know, Baby. It's ok. Sleep. I'll be right here.” When she stopped fighting her exhaustion, she succumbed immediately. Her muscles released as tension leeched from her and she relaxed into the mattress. He sighed and pressed a soft kiss to her brow.

Extracting his hand from hers, he pushed to his feet and walked to the other side of the room so not to disturb Miranda. Tapping on his omni-tool on the small table, he hailed Joker again on the Normandy - the fourth attempt in the last hour. “Joker. Joker, it's Shepard. Do you read me?” Joker never responded.


	26. Chapter 26

Miranda followed Shepard through the winding corridors of the Cerberus facility. Her head ached and despite ten hours of sleep, she was still tired. That symptom was courtesy of the concussion. She could only hope the symptoms would fade in the coming days so she was ready for the Collector base. She adjusted her shirt at the shoulders as well as her pants. They were too big, but she had little choice, as they were the only articles of clothing available. "Shepard, where are we going?"

"We found a room here and hope maybe you can shed some light on what was going on," he answered. "I've been trying to figure it out, but the computers have no data on them, and there is nothing in any of the labs that offer a clue."

"It sounds like it was burned."

"That's what I thought," Shepard nodded. "But it doesn't look like they finished the job. And if you were going to burn a project, would that include personnel?"

"Sometimes," she said. "Usually everyone is transferred. But it could in certain circumstances. Like if the data or facility has been compromised, say by the Alliance."

"So you'd destroy the base even though people were still inside."

"Precisely," she replied.

"But the way it was done," he shook his head. "Miranda, there were bodies torn apart that we passed coming in."

"I think that is unrelated to the poorly attempted burn job." she said. "When the mechs and turrets activated against the personnel, who knows what else happened?"

"Like that video Tali found," Shepard said. "The woman charged at those guards. She snapped and was attacking viciously."

"Exactly. And you're right about the burn job. Inept and sloppy." A large double door swung open revealing a massive warehouse. Her brow furrowed. The floor was covered in soil, dark and fertile with patches scorched by fire. Bright light equivalent to the sun shone from a six story high dome ceiling. At least a few hundred meters in length, Miranda had to squint to see the back wall of the warehouse.

Carefully stepping inside, she paused. The earth sank slightly beneath her feet. She crouched, running her fingers through the rich loam. A sprinkler system in the eastern most zone watered the soil. "Terraforming?"

"That's what Mordin thought," he crouched beside her, touching the soil. "But then why did they burn their crop?" He pointed to the western wall. "All along the western wall was a crop recently burned and they hadn't turned it over yet."

"Fertilization, maybe," she said. "Have you found any of the crops? Did you run a test on the soil?"

"Mordin is conducting the tests now," Shepard said, flicking his fingers and wiped the dirt on his pants. "No fresh food on site. It's all just gone. And what's even more strange is that nothing outside the facility leads you to believe that there are crops here. There are no silos. We didn't find a mill or anything like that."

With a thoughtful expression, she stroked the soil once more then turned her head to look at him. "Maybe there's a second facility somewhere else on the planet."

"That doesn't make sense." Shepard replied. "The planet environment is hostile. Why risk transporting your goods?"

"Hmm," Miranda wiped the dirt from her hands on her pants. "True. Perhaps everything was shipped off planet. How deep does the facility go?"

"It's hard to tell," he sighed. "Blue prints say four stories down, but we can't get there. Some corridors have collapsed and other areas are just not accessible. The circuit boards have fried doors. They're locked. There may be survivors, but it could take hours if not days to bypass the system to get down there. Legion and Tali are repairing the security camera feeds to try and take a look at the rest of the facility."

Miranda arched a single brow. "The quarian is actually working with the geth?"

He chuckled. "I know. Shocking, isn't it. If they see something, we can go in. But we don't have the time to spend a week searching for survivors." His smile faded at the realization he was abandoning possible survivors to death. When had he grown so cold?

"I read the briefing on this facility sent to you," Miranda said.

"Hacked my terminal?" he interrupted her with an amused smile.

She managed a small smile for him. "Every briefing the Illusive Man has sent you, he sent me as well." Her smile faded. "But after reading it, I looked up this facility, to see what I could find about what was happening here. This facility was part of Cerberus military divisions."

"Military divisions? Why would they need agriculture and terraforming?"

"I have no idea," she whispered and reflected a long minute. "When this mission against the Collectors first started, the Illusive Man briefed me constantly, multiple times a day. I received intel and information he did not tell you. That's changed in the last month or so. He told me nothing about this base. Not its history, what they were trying to discover, tips on some of the research. What to look out for or recover should I see it." She paused, staring across the warehouse and tensed. "He doesn't trust me anymore."

"I trust you," Shepard admitted without hesitation. "I don't know if that's a consolation." He hated watching her world and everything she knew crumble away because of her dedication and investment in him. But she was better than Cerberus, better without them. Though he worked for them, he was still uncertain about their ultimate goals. The seedy experiments and secrecy still rubbed him the wrong way. Not everything was bad about them, but it certainly wasn't good. Maybe, he could take her away from it and convince her to defect. She would be a highly valuable asset to the Alliance and he would stand beside her and protect her every step of the way. She just needed to come to that realization on her own.

With renewed clarity, Miranda stood. "Where are the blueprints for the facility?"

"Back at the control center we've been using," he answered and jumped to his feet, following her out the door. "Why? What are you thinking?" When she did not slow or answer him, he quickened his pace until he walked beside her. "Talk to me."

She entered the command center then approached the blue tinged holographic map at the far end. Pressing her hands against the edge, she leaned over the image, eyes scanning quickly. Shepard remained beside her. "Miranda," he repeated and frustrated at her silence, he grabbed her hand, squeezing it. She startled from her focused study and looked at him. Holding her gaze, he demanded. "Talk to me."

She glanced to her right, hesitating to answer with Mordin, Tali, Zaeed and Grunt in the room. His hand squeezed around hers and she sighed, exasperated and stepped closer to answer him quietly. "Every Cerberus facility has a main office where the lead operative handles all of the operations. My protocols will allow me access to the terminals."

"If they abandoned the facility, would anything still be on the terminal?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But it doesn't hurt to check." She turned from him to study the blueprint again. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she traced the corridor from their command center and along the various turns. She tapped at a rather large office near the communications tower. "Here. It would be here."

"How do you know?"

"The layout of this base is similar to other ones I have been to before. And it is the largest office this close to the communications tower. That was usually where my office was." She pushed away from the map and left the command center.

Shepard followed through the winding corridor. He ignored her backwards glance and knew his presence made her uncomfortable. Whatever she was looking for, she didn't want him to witness. Well, he wanted to find out what Cerberus was doing with this facility. "Would all operatives be allowed to access this office like this?"

"No. But I'm Cerberus's second-in-command," she glanced back at him. "My protocols will work."

He kept pace with her, though his expression revealed his surprise. "Second-in-command? You never told me that before."

"It wasn't important," she answered, flippantly and turned down a narrow corridor. "Would it have made a difference between us? How the mission worked? Your decisions?"

"Of course not."

"Then it didn't matter," she replied. "But it matters now." She approached one of the numerous doors of the corridor and tapped a few buttons on her omni-tool. The omni-tool brightened, and she waved her hand across the door. Recognizing the omni-tool, a metallic plate to the left of the door slid up to reveal a hand scanner. She placed her hand into the scanner and pressed hard as the machine scanned her hand print from the base of her palm to fingertip. Leaning forward, she offered her eye for a retina scanner, forcing herself not to flinch or squint at the bright light. She straightened and her arm twitched slightly. Waiting a few seconds, she pulled her hand out. A spec of blood dotted the tip of her middle finger. She sucked the blood away, waiting impatiently as the hand scanner verified her DNA. The door opened and she stepped inside.

"Is that usual protocol for entering an operative's office?" Shepard asked though he did not expect an answer. He paused in the doorway, cautiously evaluating the room. It was spacious with high ceilings and a large reinforced window overlooking the icy expanse of the planet though little was visible with the wailing winds and snow outside. To his left was a large double bed flanked by a simple dresser to one side and a bed stand on the other. Two buttons were on the wall beside the headboard. To his right was a large desk with three holo-screens, the text scrolling in bright orange.

Miranda pulled out an executive style chair with high back and a comfortable seat. She slipped into the chair and spun back into the desk, eyes focused as her fingers flew over the projected keyboard. She scanned each screen, searching through the files.

"What does it say?" Shepard stepped further into the room and rounded the desk to stand behind her. He leaned forward a bit to try and read the scrolling screen but she sorted through the data too quickly. Was she reading it that fast? She reached up with her left hand, sorting through the data on the screen to her left, brushing pertinent parts to the center screen. Her head moved ever so slightly as she skimmed each document. He waited.

"Was there any food here?" she finally asked.

"What? You mean like in the mess hall?"

"Yes, did anyone eat anything from the station?"

His brow furrowed and he frowned. "I don't think so. Why? What's wrong?"

She looked up at him. "Go. Make sure. I'll tell you when you get back."

His frown deepened. "Alright," he conceded, and stepped back, suspicious. "Then we're talking and you're telling me what the hell is on that machine."

"I'll answer all of your questions, Shepard. Go. Quickly."

He responded to the urgency in her voice and raced from the room. With Shepard gone, Miranda leaned back in the chair and cued one of the operative's video logs. The image flickered onto the screen and the facility's operative settled into his chair. The man looked to be in his mid to late forties, muscular with thick black hair, dusted with grey specs along his temples and hairline. His eyes were a focused and cold dark brown, bordering on black. He spoke with a clipped tone, blunt. "December 13th. Year 2184. Preliminary tests results are positive in lab splicing of existing wheat cells. The next step of our experiments will be to alter the seeds so that when planted, the wheat will grow possessing the traits of the cyanotoxin. Field 14B will be ready to plant in the next forty eight hours." The video ended.

Miranda played the next video log; the same operative appeared. His expression was less harsh and he sounded pleased. "March 25th. Year 2185. The crop will be ready for harvest within the next 30 days. Initial testing of the grain show trace signs of the cyanotoxin. Toxicity of the grain wheat is low so more than one dosage would be required to see full reactions of the test subjects. Side effects of internal exposure would include liver and/or respiratory failure in extreme cases. Animal testing will begin shortly. We need to find the proper dosage so that subjects experience ataxia and the side effects do not compound with fatal consequences." The video ended.

She played the third video log. The operative appeared again. "May 1st. Year 2185. Genetically modified wheat shows signs of the cyanotoxin. Mice and rats both displayed expected signs of poisoning within 72 hours of multiple exposures. Based on estimations regarding size, human exposure may require longer for full effects to be realized. Seeds and processed wheat will be shipped tomorrow to Cerberus headquarters for phase two experimentation. We will continue to modify wheat seeds for potential future distributions. The next step of our experiments will consist of the full study of Asari biology. A live specimen has been obtained and research will focus on the effects of human known neurotoxins on the Asari body. Future steps will include the genetic modification of native Asari crops with neurotoxins showing a positive result upon Asari biological functions." The video ended replaced by the scrolling feed of information data.

She searched through the information on the terminal, quickly reading every report, even shipping manifests. There was no way to trace the wheat shipments as they were sent off planet for sorting and distribution. Miranda stared blankly through the holographic data monitor. Leaning to the right in the chair, she pressed her elbow into the armrest and absently brushed the tips of her fingers over her upper lip in reflection.

If the Illusive Man was already watching her, she could not search for those shipments on the Normandy without flagging her terminal again. It worried her that the information was still available in the facility. No survivors had been found and an operative's most important task was to ensure that no data was left behind. What happened to the operative and what happened inside this facility? It had to be internal sabotage. There was no other explanation for the destruction, the reprogrammed VI system, the altered environmental controls and the intact research.

So why did she hesitate to destroy the information on the terminal?

She never hesitated. In past similar situations, she walked into a project, forwarded all relative information to the Illusive Man, wiped all information and erased expendable personnel. The project did not matter. She remembered only some of them but most were just another assignment. She had already contained projects twice if not three times as disturbing as this current one. She easily compartmentalized, disconnected from what was happening and focused on the task at hand. She was always too busy thinking forward, trying to pick the best path, the most efficient course of action.

It did not matter how heinous the experiment or how many she killed to protect Cerberus and the project. She had never previously believed that shutting a Cerberus project down and destroying it was a mistake. She was doing right by Cerberus and humanity. The more she thought about all the past projects, including the ones she led, the more she wondered if all their experiments didn't cross the ethical line.

Why did the Illusive Man shut down these projects? Did Cerberus really stop their experiments with the Rachni because they were intelligent or was it because they got caught? If it was the latter, than she was damage control, nothing more.

She finally blinked, her eyes burning from dryness and she turned her focus to the keyboard of the terminal. She had to delete the files. The project was over. Files needed to be transferred to the Illusive Man and all evidence destroyed, including the facility.

What could she do? Should she send a report to the Alliance? Why should she hand over her life and everything she knew because she suddenly felt a little guilty? Just because she didn't like what she saw lately? This project was over, finished. And how would she even start to find out where the wheat and seeds were? They may not have even been distributed but were in storage at another Cerberus facility.

Why would Cerberus develop a biological weapon that was slow working and hidden in a food crop? Why not just weaponize cyanotoxin in a bomb? Why focus on paralytic symptoms? Was Cerberus trying to replicate the Collector stasis toxin used in the colonies? To what end?

In less than a week, the Normandy and all aboard her would jump through the Omega 4 relay to the Collector homeworld and likely, would not return ... so what did her change of heart matter? _Just push the button, delete the data. Why hesitate?_

Shepard waited inside the operative office, watching Miranda stare blankly at the desktop. He returned over five minutes ago, and she was completely oblivious to his presence. It was unlike her to be so withdrawn from her surroundings. She always knew when he entered a room and only one time since they started sleeping together did he awake before she did. She was alert, focused, and driven. What was she thinking about so deeply that her usually perceptive senses failed her?

"Miranda," he called softly. She did not appear to hear him. Frowning, he approached her, slowly, careful not to startle her. Though she was not a soldier, her biotics could kill, and he had no intention of being on the receiving end of one of her biotic attacks again. "Miranda."

She startled from her thoughts, looking up quickly at him. She watched him curiously, emotions clear on her face. Confusion and uncertainty were most apparent. After a long moment, both faded to resigned dread. She closed her eyes and pressed the backs of her fingers to her forehead, retreating again in thought.

Shepard knelt beside her, resting a hand on her thigh. "Miranda, what's wrong? Come on, talk to me."

She lifted her head to look at him, her hand partially covering her mouth as she searched his eyes. She did not answer him at first as she formulated a response and Shepard did not press her again. She finally answered, "Shepard, you have made my life so complicated."

He smiled softly, rubbing her thigh in comfort. "Just different. You've changed me too and I like who I am now. Nobody has eaten anything since we landed here, and I told them to stay away from the food of the facility. Mordin had scanned the water and it's fine." At her silence, he continued. "Tell me why that was so important."

Again, there was a long pause before her response as if she struggled with the decision to mention anything to him. "Cerberus was developing biological weapons through genetically modified crops."

"What kind of crops?"

"Wheat," she replied. "They were successful. But they were trying to find non-fatal levels. To cause things like paralysis, confusion or illness. The last entries said they were studying the effects or Earth indigenous neurotoxins on Asari."

Shepard exhaled a slow controlled breath, unwilling to show a reaction to the horrendous experiments conducted in the facility. His shoulders tensed for a few seconds before he forced the muscles to relax. "Ok. What do you have to do now?"

Miranda stared at the terminal, entirely unaware of his struggle controlling the explosive anger roiling within him. "I have to forward all data to the Illusive Man then destroy all evidence of the facility."

He held back the immediate response to bark and yell, demanding that she forward the information to Hackett or Anderson. Someone at the Alliance. They had to find the tainted seeds, had to warn the colonies and scan all the wheat products distributed throughout the galaxy.

She shook her head, growling in aggravation. "My path was clear. Black and white. I did my job, I got results and moved to the next job. And these months with you have just derailed all of that. It's like I'm willing to toss fifteen years of my life away. But I'm not." She sighed, "I'm not."

Clarity doused his anger. She had not yet deleted the data. That's why she looked so lost and unsure. She was torn on what to do. If she was starting to doubt Cerberus, he could convince her to defect. Maybe she would follow him back to the Alliance when they defeated the Collectors. This was his chance to convince her but he had to tread carefully. He needed to stay calm.

He knew Miranda would not respond to force, but he had other ways of swaying her away from Cerberus. He needed to use the right words and plan multiple moves ahead. The wrong move or the wrong words might have the opposite result. Though she was smarter, he wasn't a total idiot. Logistics, rationale, subtle strategies. He could do that. He was a master on the battlefield, after all.

Dealing with Miranda intellectually and emotionally was like an intricate game of chess. She often defeated him, but this time, he had the advantage due to her conflicting loyalties. Damn it, he wished he was better at chess.

"You haven't lost fifteen years of your life," he said simply. "Our experiences make us who we are. And you are here right now with me because you're the best at what you do."

"That's true," she conceded, staring absently at the scrolling information feed. "We're both here because we get results."

"Good results," he corrected.

She scoffed and slowly shook her head, eyeing him with an almost amused expression. "Based on whose definition?"

He silently cursed, not expecting that response and he could not predict where she was leading him. He needed to steer her towards the right decision, away from Cerberus and the crooked mission they preached. She was blinded by loyalty, devoted to a nonexistent ideal. He studied her carefully. "Our own," he offered, and when her expression grew curious and thoughtful, he continued. "In the end, it's all we have to go on. Our decisions are based on our thoughts, our choices and not on anyone else's. We aren't machines and can't be programmed. It's why we can change when life changes around us. We adapt."

"Perhaps. Shepard, picture a river." She leaned forward, twisting at the waist to face him. "The current may be gentle in some areas, steady in others. When you reach a point where the current rushes to take you around a bend and you cannot see where it leads, do you fight the current or swim with it?"

He considered her scenario carefully. "Survival instinct would come first and you'd fight the current. But someone wise would not fight a losing battle. So you'd let the current take you around the bend and save your strength for a winnable fight."

"No," she shook her head. "You use your strength to fight for the shore. Then, when out of the water, you walk the shore so you can see around the bend." She leaned back in her chair, turning her attention to the scrolling information. "Yet even upon the shore, I still cannot see around the bend. I always see around the bend."

_Check._ _Damn it._ He was losing another battle of wits with her, and he could not afford another loss. He thought he was luring her one way. But then she did something weird with her bishops, moved a knight, and suddenly he was back on his heels, reacting to her moves and instead of driving their intricate dance. He reacted to her more often than not and that strategy failed in chess as well as war. He needed to act, to lead. He needed to be on the offensive.

Shepard reflected a long moment on her words then squeezed her thigh, turning her attention back to him. "You assume there is a shore. Time does not wait for our choice. It continues whether we do something or not. Even if you could see around the bend, would it matter? You still have to go forward, so why fight against something that can't change? But every so often, the river will fork and you have a choice. You save your strength for that because you may have to fight the current then."

At her contemplative silence, Shepard stood. His message wasn't subtle but he was never a man for subtlety. Miranda needed to make a decision about Cerberus and her future. Proud of possibly one of the best pep talks of his life, he left and could only hope she distanced herself from Cerberus, rejecting the unethical extremism that permeated its core.

+++

Shepard sat on the floor in the command center in the middle of the Cerberus facility. He stared blankly across the room, foot tapping rhythmically as Mordin and Tali attempted to repair communications with the Normandy. It wasn't promising. An explosion in the communications tower destroyed any chance the facility could communicate with the Normandy. Joker simply wasn't answering.

Was the Normandy safe? Did something happen to force them to flee the system?

He left Miranda an hour ago and had not seen her since. He wondered if she made her decision. Would she erase and forget about all the data from the Cerberus experiments? The more time that passed, the more he doubted his decision to leave the data in her hands. What if her loyalty to the Illusive Man was still intact? He never gave her the ultimatum or ordered her to do something against Cerberus procedure.

How many would die due to Cerberus developed biological weapons and to what end? Were they selling them or building an army and preparing for war?

Miranda entered, pausing just inside the door to scan the room. She wore her armored greaves and boots, a mismatched white armored breastplate - likely salvaged from the armory - and her helmet tucked under one arm. Her orange holographic visor extended across her eyes from ear to ear. She gripped a black cloth bag in her free hand, something clunky and heavy inside.

She tapped at her right earpiece and spoke softly but he was too far away to hear her. She did not appear to find who she was looking for and left the room. What was she up to? Unable to resist the nagging curiosity, Shepard stood and exited the command center.

Outside the command center, she was not within sight. Where did she go and how did she move so fast? He was only thirty seconds behind her, at most. He retreated to the dormitory quarters where he spent an uncomfortable evening in a chair far too small as she slept in a comfortable but small bed. He crossed to the far corner and put on his armor then tugged on his helmet. He activated the camera from his omnitool, watching through Miranda's visor. When the picture flickered into focus in the right corner of his view, he tweaked with the microphone to find their personal frequency. "Avoiding me?"

She stopped. "No, why would you think that?"

He smirked when she continued walking forward. "Where'd you get the breastplate?"

"Armory. Mine is useless at least until Jacob can try to repair it."

"We can always get a new one before we jump the relay."

"If we have time," she answered and placed a four inch diameter black disc atop the table in a laboratory. "We may just have to make do."

"I'd rather have my team well armored so if we have to stop at the Citadel, we will," Shepard said. "What are you doing?"

"Placing detonator charges."

He cocked a brow. "You do realize we are still in the facility, right? Possibly for the next few hours?"

"Really, Shepard?" she poorly feigned surprise as sarcasm laced her tone. "I had no idea. And here I already set the detonators for ten minutes."

He exhaled a short sigh. "I really hope you're joking."

"Yes, I am joking. That was my attempt at humor."

"We're gonna have to work on your humor, sometime," he teased, leaving the dormitory quarter. "Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm fine. There are only six more."

He hated that she was dodging him and a heavy doubt weighed upon him. If she would not openly offer her decision to him, he'd force her to answer. "What about the data?"

She did not answer right away, instead silently setting another detonator device. Placing the bag on the floor, she pulled her helmet on and attached it at the collar of the armor. "Are you wearing your helmet?"

"Yes, why?"

"Cerberus facility. Cameras, microphones are everywhere. Though our communications are down, the cameras and mics are still recording."

"The tower is destroyed. Nothing is getting off this station. It's silent."

"I still don't trust it."

"Is that why you're setting the detonators?" he asked, quietly.

"This is part of a regular clear job," she admitted then whispered. "Kasumi is downloading what data she can before I return to the operative's office in ... nine more minutes. She'll send the data to Liara. Then I'll make a copy for the Illusive Man and destroy all the data."

His brow furrowed in thought at her explanation. "Why would you let Kasumi download Cerberus data?"

"Because I can't do it," she answered, softly. "Sending information on Reaper indoctrination to the Alliance is one thing. And I can defend that as the greater good in the fight against the Reapers. This? I can't. What they're doing here, I don' know. But I can't surrender this information to anyone but the Illusive Man. Officially. Kasumi's omni-tool is not a Cerberus device, has an extranet connection and she uses encrypted channels. She's stolen information from us before and we never could track her or what she did with the data. I don't know how she does it, and frankly, it's probably for the best given the current situation."

He paused at the intersection of four hallways and glanced down the darker corridor to the west where she stood outside one of the laboratories, digging through the black bag. "You just thought of everything, didn't you," he replied with a smirk.

"It's why I'm the best."

He heard the small smirk in her voice at that and teased, flirtatiously, "I can think of a few other things you're pretty good at too."

"Mmm, and you're quite imaginative."

"So why Liara and not right to the Alliance?"

"Liara will do what needs to be done with it. The information is necessary not just for humans but for the Asari too." She entered the lab.

"Shepard," Tali hailed through Shepard's earpiece. "The storm is passing. Grunt and Samara are clearing the path to the shuttle."

"Good news, Tali," Shepard answered. "Anything from the Normandy?"

"Static."

"Is it worth taking off if we don't even know she's there?" Shepard asked. "The facility defensive scanners are fried so we can't even search for her in orbit."

"Sir," Jacob interrupted. "We'll know more on the shuttle, Commander. There is a homing setting for the autopilot. If the Normandy is out of range, it won't engage."

"Good. Keep me posted, Jacob." Shepard said. "Miranda, can you be at the extraction point within the hour?"

"I'll be there, Shepard," she answered.

+++

Miranda stepped out of the elevator into the captain's quarters. The lights were all off except for the bright fluorescence from the aquarium. Steam lingered near the bathroom door and a white towel lay in a heap on the floor near the desk. A dead yellow and black striped fish bobbed at the top of the water, belly up and half eaten. She pressed a button on the wall beside the aquarium and a metal plate skimmed the top, clearing away the dead fish. Peering into the room, she spotted Shepard sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. He wore only a tight pair of boxers and water slicked his body as if he only bothered to partially dry himself. He stared blankly at a spinning hologram of a Collector at the center of the table.

The holo-image was taken aboard the Normandy a few short hours ago. The crew was gone, captured by the Collectors while Shepard and his squad were on the planet trapped in a blizzard. Upon returning and hearing Joker's report, Shepard watched all the surveillance videos multiple times and from every angle available. Alone, in his quarters for the last four hours, he did not give any orders to Joker about a destination nor did he speak to anyone on the squad.

She had lingered in her quarters after a long hot shower. It felt good to finally get the tacky dried blood out of her hair. She submitted her usual reports and reread the vital information collected about the Collectors and the Omega 4 relay. She worried about Shepard. It was unlike him to seclude himself for so long and not seek her advice. Finally, five minutes ago, he ordered Joker to set course for the Viper Nebula.

She stepped down the stairs into the private quarters, the only sound was her heels clicking on the grating. Usually, he looked up at the sound, his eyes always seeking her. This time, he stared blankly as if unaware of her presence. She approached him cautiously, unwilling to startle him. A soldier, if startled, could react with deadly force.

"Shepard," she whispered. His eyes shot to hers in acknowledgment then returned their focus to the hologram.

Perhaps, he was aware of her presence after all. She sat beside him a few inches away and leaned back, arm draped over the back of the couch, legs crossed. She waited.

He sighed heavily, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch. He rubbed his face, humming then let his arms fall limply to his side. His head lulled to the side. "I'm going to get that scientist away from the Batarians. You and Jack still need time to make sure you're all good to go before we jump the relay. Plus Jacob's not finished repairing the armor. And if the rumors are true and there is reaper activity in this nebula, we have to stop it." His eyes strayed passed her, through her as he focused on the model ship of the Normandy in the display case at his desk.

"Alright, Commander," she answered, professionally. After a minute without a response, she stood. He quickly reached out to grab her hand. Her biotics flared reflexively and she tensed. With a slow exhale, she relaxed. "Sorry."

"It's ok. My fault," his arm clenched at the biotic burning stimulation but he refused to release her. "Don't go." He held her hand when she sat, staring at it as he brushed his thumb along her palm. "Is it the right decision?"

"Yes," she said, simply. "It is."

"Why?"

She turned her hand, giving him better access, letting him absently caress her palm. "What are you afraid of, Shepard?"

"It's not fear. Not really," he replied and entwined their fingers, clenching her hand. "When I saw what the collectors did, I wanted to jump right to the relay. To rescue them. But if we don't come back, I need to finish everything first. And you're still concussed. Jack's shoulder's a mess. Frankly, we're not ready." He sighed, "Is it the right decision? To leave them in Collector hands?"

"It is the right decision," she answered, and held his haunted gaze. "You're right. I am not one hundred percent. Neither is Jack. If we have any shot in there, we all need to be ready. We all knew coming into this mission that there was a chance there were going to be casualties."

"If we weren't all down there for the mission, most of my squad would have been captured too. It was a calculated strike," Shepard sighed and twisted to better face her. "If it wasn't for the blizzard and being stuck down there for over twenty-four hours …"

"Don't dwell on it," she cut him off with a stern stare. "Don't. We were down there and it was by some stroke of luck that we still have a shot now. We can't wait long because they may come back. But we still have a chance to win this, Shepard. You need to focus."

"I know!" he snapped then sighed and rubbed his face again. "Sorry. I know. But they're going to die. The Collectors are going to do things to them. Chambers and Dr. Chakwas and …" he trailed off. "I know that it's not supposed to be easy to make these choices. I don't like making them. Not like this."

"Shepard, it won't get any easier. When the Reapers finally get here, I cannot imagine the destruction that will follow them. Look at what only Sovereign was able to do. What will an armada do?"

"Thousands, maybe millions will die," he answered, stoically. "But we cannot give up. We can't. No matter how hard it gets." He sighed and ducked his head, eyes half-lidded as if in defeat. "It's still a lie. If the Protheans couldn't stop them, how could we?" When she did not respond, he clenched his fist in anger and pushed to his feet, stalking to the aquarium to watch the rare remaining aquatic life. "I hate feeling like this! I'm supposed to inspire hope in people, and I just don't have it in me anymore."

He threw his arms to the side in an elaborate shrug. "And what am I supposed to do? Lie to them? I guess so. I've got to lie, and tell everyone that we have a chance. That we will succeed. Bolster morale like any commanding officer would before going into battle."

She stood and approached him. With arms crossed, she leaned casually against the aquarium beside him. "We're going to die eventually. If it's not to the Collectors, it will be to the Reapers. But I have no regrets, Shepard. You helped me save Oriana. She's safe now and can have as normal a life as she can for as long as she can. I've accomplished more up to this point in my life than most do in their lifetime. There are some things that would have been nice to experience, but they were never mine to have. So I won't regret what never could be."

Sliding a hand over her hip, he stepped closer. "What would you want that you don't think you can have?"

When he stepped close to her, she uncrossed her arms, sliding her hands along his chest. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

She held his probing stare a long moment then sighed and averted her eyes to look over his shoulder in thought. "It really doesn't matter because it will never happen. And if it did? I'm not sure I'd know what to do about it."

"Name one thing, Miranda," he pressed.

Contemplating carefully, she traced a twirling pattern along the collar of his shirt, focusing on the contrast between the grey Cerberus tee and his skin. "Freedom," she admitted softly and met his eyes. "From my past."

His hand tightened on her hip, eyes blazing with controlled emotion. "Your father," he clarified and at her silence, he pressed closer, pinning her to the aquarium. "I'll kill him for you," he pledged. "When this is over."

"No," she gently shook her head. "No, you won't. You're not a murderer. Promise me. You promise me you will not do that." Her hand trailed up to his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. "Promise."

"I could," he growled through clenched teeth. "It would free you."

"Not at that cost," she answered. "He isn't your problem. He's mine. So you promise me, Shepard, that you will not seek him out and kill him."

With a resigned sigh, he nodded and rested his forehead against hers. "There is something I want, too, that I could never have."

"What's that?" she watched him quizzically.

"Freedom from the pressure of an impossible mission and knowing that each hour that passes, my death grows closer. That's if I'm lucky." He swallowed the lump in his throat before admitting, "I can't watch you die."

She gasped, taken aback at the unmasked and fierce emotions in his expression. Unsure what to say, she kissed him softly, slowly, gently lapping at his lips with distracting teasing. He needed this, needed her. The guilt weighed heavily on him, threatening to suffocate him. She was there, as always, a buoy in a raging storm. It would consume them eventually, but for now, she was a reprieve.

Her hand abandoned his neck to unbutton one of the pockets on her high boots. She broke the kiss as she pulled out the mostly used tube of biotic gel. She offered a teasing smirk and tapped the tip of the tube on his chest. "I came here with a thought in mind."

"Oh," he watched the tube before searching her eyes, a slow grin tugging at his lips though he tried to suppress it. "And what kind of thought was that?"

"That I want to touch you," she stated. Uncertainty weighed heavily in her eyes, unguarded for him, lately.

All amusement fled from him at her stoic sentence. He bent at the knees to swoop her into his arms as he kissed her with an explosion of hunger and promise. He needed to ensure the haunted unknown fled from her. Strong, focused, severe and certain, he could not bear the sight of fatigue and hopelessness that she tried so hard to mask over the last few days. Her close brush with death forced her to face her mortality and he hated the fear reflected back at him when she completely dropped her guard.

They needed to escape, to forget. Or maybe, to remember for what and for whom they fought.

+++

Shepard sighed heavily, relaxed, and thoroughly satisfied. He lay nude upon his back on his bed with the sheets draped up over his hips. Miranda curled into his side, her head pillowed on his chest, breath soft and slow as if in sleep. He knew better. She wasn't asleep but simply recuperating. A very small part of him felt guilty that she would be sore but she never pushed him away. She eagerly matched his passion both times they made love. That was the best description for their physical relationship. It was no longer simple attraction to her but something much more.

He still acknowledged that facing their death within the next few days sparked the nearly insatiable passion on both their parts. He craved and loved her, but he could not share those words with her. She was not ready to hear them and if he were honest with himself, he was not ready to say them.

Miranda shifted against him as if to ease away but he tightened his arm around her, keeping her pinned to his side. She chuckled softly and obliged him, staying close. Her fingers tickled along his chest, playing with the wiry hair. She did that often when they laid together and he wondered if it was in absent thought or if she liked the feel. He loved it either way. "Are you alright?" he asked, gently. "I may have been, uhm, vigorous."

"Is that what you would call that?" she quipped back and he could hear the smile in her voice though she tried to sound sarcastically unimpressed. "I would have said frantic and unpracticed."

He laughed at her crack, hand tightening on her hip, and she turned slightly to prop her chin upon his chest to look at him. She smirked at the large grin on his face. He lifted up slightly and kissed her softly. "You're lucky, you know, that you're still recovering from your concussion or I'd make sure you couldn't walk for that remark."

Her eyes drifted from his to his mouth and she reached up to brush her fingertips over his lower lip. "I should hold you to that."

He sobered, pursing his lips against her fingers as he searched her expression. If he were honest with himself, he felt guilty for other reasons, like his decision to complete Hackett's task to rescue a scientist before jumping through the relay after his kidnapped crew. What kind of monster did that make him to leave the men and women under his command to be subjected to the Collectors?

Miranda had said it was the right call, but was it really? Her arguments repeated in his head when she defended his choice. They were sound points, and in the end, he rationalized that she was correct. If a Reaper invasion was imminent, it had to be stopped even at the expense of half his crew.

Were they being tortured, dying or trapped while he lay with Miranda, making love? A part of him hated himself for enjoying the time with her when so many others suffered. The closer to the time they would jump the relay, the more he thought that this was a one-way trip. So if he was going to die for the galaxy, again, he'd enjoy a little of the time he had left.

Reaching towards her, he tucked a stray thick lock of hair behind Miranda's ear. "Tell me something about you."

"Like what?"

He smiled softly, searching her expression. "I don't know. Uhm, what was your training like to become an operative?"

She frowned, brow furrowed in thought and suspicion, an involuntary reaction. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because it made you who you are," he coaxed, gently. "Tell me, Miranda."

She was silent for quite some time and Shepard did not press as he watched the thoughts and memories race through her mind. She seemed to gaze through him as if lost in the memories. "I was a teenager when I left my father. Seventeen. I knew the name Cerberus from my time with him but had no idea how to contact them. It was a bit shocking to leave that prison for the world. So much you don't know or don't understand." Her gaze focused on him. "There are nuances to society that you learn at a young age through social interactions."

He rubbed his hand up her back then down again in comfort, waiting patiently for her to continue. She licked her lips, a little tense with nervousness. "I eventually found Cerberus. I should say that they found me. They knew who I was, my whole story and still took me in. With all new recruits, you're subjected to various kinds of tests. Physical, intellectual and psychological." She swirled a finger along his chest, drawing random patterns along the taut skin and teasing the hair. "I was in the 99th percentile results to be an operative. Training wasn't very different from any other intelligence agency. You learn how to lie, how to improvise, how to spot cameras, bugs, not only human but Asari, Turian, Salarian. All of them. You learn languages, as many as you can handle or physically speak. Though with translators now, it makes things harder to hide."

"What do you mean?"

She relaxed into him, comfortably as he pulled the sheet a little higher around them. "At one point, before translator implants, you had an advantage if you spoke multiple languages. You and I speak English to each other right now but do you really think Garrus is speaking English to you? Or Tali? You understand them because of the translator implanted in your head."

"So learning multiple languages doesn't really matter anymore."

"It can," she answered. "Translators can malfunction and some of the more obscure and ancient languages, dead languages are not in a majority of the models. Plus, we have linguistics experts that have developed a language spoken only by top Cerberus operatives. If we need to say something nobody understands, we can."

"Wait, so you could say something right now in a Cerberus developed language that my translator wouldn't understand?" Shepard slowly shook his head. "I'd like to call crap on that." When she started to speak in a language his translator could not interpret, his smile faded. The language was guttural with strong consonants mixed with bizarre schwa placements. It was harsh, aggressive to the ear. She stopped speaking and arched a brow at him, challenging. He grinned. "Do I want to know what you just said to me?"

"I said, 'I don't know why you'd doubt me about this. Why would I lie? I'm tempted to throw you out the airlock next time we're on the bridge.' The language base is ancient Hebrew as far as structure and grammatical rules. The vocabulary, however, is entirely new and unique."

He stroked teasing fingers down her spine. "You know, you're incredibly sexy when you talk trash to me." His pride swelled when she chuckled softly, her eyes amused and expression, open. Rarely was she so relaxed and he basked in it. "So, you're like a super spy?"

"I suppose you could call it that."

He absently stroked a hand up and down her back, staring at her bared shoulder in thought a moment before turning his gaze to hers. She was waiting patiently for him, observant, as always. "Is your name really Miranda?"

"Yes, that's my birth name. My aliases have been shed a long time ago," she answered.

"I see. Well, what else did you learn in super spy school?"

"Everything really," she answered. "From hand to hand combat and weapon mastery to seduction to withstanding torture. You have to know how to do everything because you never know when a job will require a certain tactic or defense."

"You've said that before," he said and brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "That they tortured you so you could learn to withstand it."

"Of course. It is the only way to be sure." She tilted her head slightly to nuzzle his hand. "You need to learn to resist talking no matter what they do to you. From physical torture to certain barbiturates that could make it harder to lie."

"Have you been tortured before?" His fingers slid through her hair. "On a mission?"

She extracted his hand from her hair, lacing her fingers with his then pulled his hand to his chest to rest her chin upon it. "No. I've never been captured before. And after my first five years with Cerberus, I was more valuable alive than dead. That meant I had an advantage. I could use deadly force when others would not against me."

"You said seduction." Shepard probed, watching curiously. Though he hated the thought of her using her body like that, he was rational. He understood the logistics behind it. Use every asset available to accomplish the goal.

"Yes, seduction. But I'm sure you don't want to hear about that part."

"Why would you say that?"

"You tensed when you asked me the question." Her fingers moved under her chin on his chest and her free hand reached up to press on his shoulders, signaling the tension.

He had not realized his tells telegraphed so easily. Or perhaps she was just so attuned to him. "Maybe, but I still want to know."

She reflected carefully on her words before speaking. "Seduction is an art. There is nothing romantic about it. You don't even necessarily enjoy it while you're doing it. It's not about that. It's just about using your body to distract from something, perhaps being affectionate with a partner so people ignore you so you can disappear in a party. Or focusing your skills on an individual to manipulate that target."

"Have you done it before? In the field?"

"Yes," she replied, honestly, carefully gauging his reaction. "But not recently. I have not infiltrated an organization or agency in over a decade. Once my leadership skills were shown, I was promoted and transferred to the project divisions. Overseeing various projects, like Lazarus. Or cleaning up messes."

"How many have you seduced? How does it work?" He pressed.

She exhaled a short sigh and reached up to cup his cheek. "Shepard, I enjoy sex. But seducing a mark is not about enjoying sex. It's about getting what I want. Information. Planting a bug." When he flinched slightly at the words, her fingers trailed back to stroke behind his ear. "Distracting someone so that a team member can do something else. It's not because I'm some sex maniac that cannot help myself. There is a lot of preparation involved on all of these missions so I know exactly what the mark wants, what they like and how best to get what I need out of them. And sometimes, sex isn't the answer. Sometimes it is. The hardest part can be the act itself. Especially if you're not attracted to the mark."

"Tell me about a time," he pressed. A masochistic part of his mind needed to know what she did even though he dreaded hearing about it. He didn't even understand why he was so obsessed with that part of her life. Why did he need to know this so badly? "Tell me about when you did this to someone. Did you always sleep with them? Do you use those techniques on me, too?" A wave of jealousy surged through him at the thought of her using her biotic massage on another lover. It was ridiculous jealousy and he knew it. The mark wasn't even a lover! Not really. He didn't care. He had to know.

Miranda easily observed and identified every emotion that crossed his features through the bombardment of questioning. "It was in the past. Does it matter now?" When his teeth clenched, she reached up, drawing a finger along the line of his jaw. His whole body tensed. She paused, frowning at his reaction to her. "John, do you want me or who I've pretended to be?"

Tension slowly drained from him as he gazed at her open expression. He had not realized before but lately, she discarded her mask when they were alone. No longer did she hide behind a facade of cold, emotionless focus. She relaxed. She showed him the strong, intelligent, talented, and even vulnerable woman beneath the hardened exterior. He waited months to see her but maybe, he just wasn't looking hard enough.

Reaching lower with his arm, he hooked his forearm under her hips and pulled her roughly up his body. He crushed his mouth to hers, eyes closed. She matched his passion, fingers gripping tightly to his shoulders as her tongue tangled with his, drew him into her mouth. He groaned, his free hand raking through her hair to keep her close.

His body stirred with desire, addicted to the sensation of her biotically chilled skin pressed to his. He broke the kiss before he was incapable of stopping and searched her expression. "That answer your question?" he rasped.

"Thank you," she whispered and kissed him softly again.

He hummed when she pulled back and watched him with those probing eyes. There was so much more he wanted to know. His lips parted to ask something else but she reached out and covered his mouth with her hand. "No more." Only when he nodded, did she release him. "Your turn." Her head tilted, curiously. "What was boot camp like for you?"

He smirked, flirtatiously. "What, that wasn't in my super secret Cerberus life files?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "I know the logistics behind boot camp. The vigorous training, the impossible demands, the intense strain on the physical body and the mind. That is not what I asked. I asked what it was like. For you."

"For me," he repeated softly and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I joined the marines soon after I turned eighteen. You see all the commercials and the recruitment. My folks were in the military. It's all I ever knew. Though they were navy, I wanted to be a marine. I wanted to be front lines. Training? It was hard. They uh," he trailed off, lost in thought a few seconds before he continued. "They break you."

She was silent at his pause and he did not expect her to coax or ask him to expand. He knew her so well. She would simply wait for him to share what he could, what he wanted to. "I loved the physical training. Hundreds of pushups. Running for miles. Climbing rock walls or swimming rapids with heavy gear on. It was great. And it weeds out about half the recruits. It's just so demanding."

She stroked the firm muscles of his chest then up to his shoulders and over his biceps. "Do you think you could still pass the physical training?"

"Is that a crack at my stamina, Ms. Lawson?" he taunted with a wide grin. At her coy shrug, he chuckled and considered her question seriously. "I don't know. I think I could. I hope I could. For me, that wasn't the hardest part. It's the mental part. They just break you down until you don't think. You just do. You obey." He glanced down at her. "They have to though. You can't have people disobeying orders because suddenly they have an idea. You have to follow your commanding officer without hesitation. And if they told us to charge down a hill into barbed wire and a thresher maw, you do it. You don't think about it first."

"It was rough," he continued then smiled. "Hmmf, you get real close to each other. I changed so much."

"How so?"

He arched a brow, surprised she interrupted him to ask. "Uhm, well, I became harder. I wasn't as sympathetic to things. I was easier to anger. Hell, even my language. You're just there in the pit and words like fuck, shit and pussy. It all just rolls off your tongue and some of the stuff you say starts getting nasty. At least with the grunts like us. Shit shows and bug hunts. Mom got so pissed. I remember she overheard me one day and I was so used to letting it fly, I couldn't even censor myself with her anymore." He shook his head. "She never said anything to me. But she was upset. Disappointed even. I was nineteen and bursting with testosterone and thinking I was hot shit. Didn't even care that she was disappointed."

Shepard frowned and scratched the side of his head. "It's just what everyone was like. And you want to fit in. Don't wanna be that guy on the outs. A few years later before I served under Captain Anderson, I was stationed on a colony doing crap patrols and stuff. And Anderson was there doing an inspection and he came into the barracks. We were playing poker for money, talking crap and just being regular jackasses. The barracks was a disaster. Hell, we didn't even make our beds that day. Why bother? It was a dead zone. Nothing going on."

"I'll never forget what he did." His eyes dazed with the memory, easily pulling it to the front. "He took our cards and our credits. Made us all run around the compound. Ten laps. It was a two mile perimeter. Then one hundred pull ups. One hundred push ups. One hundred sit ups."

He winced at the memory. "God damn it, we were sick. All of us. Puking our guts up, exhausted. Dehydrated. It was horrible. It was the worst experience of my life. Well, other than dying. Dying really sucked," he whispered. Miranda stroked a cool hand over his chest then up to cup his neck and down again. He sighed at the touch, calming. "Anderson came to each of us after that. I don't know what he said to anyone else. And nobody ever admitted it. But what he said to me? He told me that we only have one shot at this life. And there comes a time when a man needs to decide what exactly he wants. He asked me if I wanted to be stuck as a shock trooper, thrown away on the front lines until I was eventually killed. Because it would happen. Or if I wanted to make something more of myself. If I wanted to be a leader. To use my head and my gun. To make a difference."

He met Miranda's eyes. "Did I want to follow a man to my death? Or lead men to victory. I seriously considered his words and when I answered 'Victory,' he said that I better start acting like it. Because no one would follow me if I didn't get my head out of my ass and start acting like I deserved their trust."

He scowled and shook his head. "I didn't understand it at first. We all trusted each other. With our lives. Our team? We were inseparable and I would have given my life for any of them. They would have for me too. I know it. You know when I finally woke up? The Blitz. That's what it took for me to wake … up." He trailed off, lost in the memory.

Miranda kissed him softly before easing back to rest her chin on his chest again, watching him. "That grunt marine is still in you. I see him sometimes. Hear him, more often."

He chuckled and tickled a hand along her side and taunted, "My mouth offends you sometimes? Didn't think you were so delicate."

"Please," she huffed in dismissal. "I'm not a child. And you were a marine. If you spoke like a diplomat all the time and I never saw glimpses of the marine, I would think you faked your records. Plus," she shifted up his body and kissed the corner of his lips. "Your mouth is gifted in other ways."

"Mmm, and you haven't seen everything it can do yet."

She eased back and sighed, relaxing into him again as she peered up at his face. "So, if I'm a super spy, what does this make you? Space hero?"

"Ah, I don't know. Probably just a grunt? Still feel like that sometimes. Like this whole thing is just beyond me." He motioned to the cabin with one hand. "I can't believe it. I still feel like that guy sometimes. The shock troop marine. Just the muscle, the big guns. And like this whole thing is just one big mistake."

"It's not a mistake," Miranda stated. "Shepard, you're a hero. You've proven yourself and your leadership time and again. And the fact that you still feel like a grunt marine is why people relate to you. You don't act better than them, like you're superior because of your ranking or your status."

"Because I'm not."

"And that is why they follow you," Miranda continued before he could say anything else. "Shepard, do you know why I follow you? At first, it was my orders. I was told that this is your mission and to do as you commanded. Now? I follow your orders because I trust you. I know you'll make the right decision and do everything you can to pull this team through to the end. I don't trust easily. It is quite the feat that you've managed to convince me in only a few months. It's because you consistently get results."

"Hmm, and here I thought it was my animal magnetism and our sexual chemistry."

She arched a single brow at his teasing grin and easily replied, "No, Commander, that is why I'm in your bed. Obviously, I'm not as sensible about that decision."

He laughed. "God damn, you're amazing."

"I know," she smirked, flirtatiously. "Sleep. I'll wake you when we get to the Viper Nebula."

"Stay," he said, softly, holding her gaze.

"I was planning on it," she replied and stretched out beside him on her side. She hummed contently when he spooned to her back, draping his arm around her waist to hug her closer.


	27. Chapter 27

Miranda stood in the mess hall leaning against the counter where the mess sergeant would prepare meals, had he not been captured by the Collectors.  She broke apart pieces of a protein bar, absently popping a small bit into her mouth as she watched Commander Shepard speak with Admiral Hackett in the medical bay.  The admiral’s ship rendezvoused with the Normandy in the Sol system.

She was nervous.  The Alliance knew their location and as Cerberus’s top operative, her capture would be a great political victory.  Only two Alliance soldiers boarded the Normandy with Hackett and waited for him in the hangar bay, a testament of faith on Hackett’s part.  She insisted that EDI constantly scan the system to ensure no other Alliance vessel approached or engaged.  Miranda usually avoided contact with the Alliance and due to Shepard’s multiple allegiances, she had more interactions with them in the past six months than she had in the last five years.

Her curiosity raged.  What were Shepard and Hackett talking about at such length and with such calmness?  Part of her training as an operative included lip reading, but Hackett always managed to position himself in a way that made it difficult for her to see his mouth. She wondered if Hackett was aware of her presence as she watched his interaction with Shepard.

Hackett clasped his arms behind his back as he faced Shepard. Miranda angled her head, squinting to focus on the admiral's mouth. ' _All I know ... to break ... of prison, and now an ... I hope you can ... logic between ... events.'_ Hackett turned, his face blocked by the steel beam between the two medbay windows.

Damn it! She was out of practice. With the advanced surveillance on the Normandy, she relied on the microphones to keep abreast of situations with the crew. She resisted the urge to slip into her office and activate the security cameras and microphone in the med bay.  When had that changed?  She held no reservations using the on-board systems to watch the Normandy crew or the recruited squad, but she stopped observing Shepard months ago.  A nagging guilt nipped, preventing her from listening in on Shepard's and Hackett's conversation.  How annoying.

She trusted Shepard and did not worry he would betray her or the Cerberus crew to the Alliance.  For too long, she depended on survival instincts, which included anonymity and caution. She excelled at her job and advanced within Cerberus because she was careful, exact, and thoughtful.  

She prided herself on her ability to read individuals, to know a mark after brief interactions.  She had little experience with Admiral Hackett in the past.  Contacts within the Alliance offered information on his professionalism, sharp focus, intense demeanor, and devotion to humanity and the Alliance.  They answered few of the questions she needed in order to best understand the man.  The easiest way to understand a mark was to have a simple five minute conversation.  So much information was gathered through observations like tone, timbre, body language, eye contact, and even breathing rhythm.

She finally witnessed some of those points and though she could not hear what was said, she learned much from watching the admiral through the medical bay window.  The admiral stood calmly, back straight and stance proud.  He was a man confident in his message, his body, and his decisions.  The admiral’s gaze never wavered from Shepard but instead focused intensely as if he peered through the commander, aware of all accomplishments, faults, and even thoughts.  

It was a technique she often used when addressing someone with whom she was unsure what to expect.  By displaying an air of self-assurance, Hackett exuded his authority.  Anyone experiencing doubts or uncertainty would cave to the admiral’s decisions or opinions.

When Shepard's eyes averted slightly from the admiral's and instead focused over his shoulder, she knew Hackett won.  Whatever he wanted from the Commander, he got.  Shepard did not fight, did not argue and accepted whatever Hackett said.  She would have to be on her guard.

Hackett reached out and rested a strong hand on Shepard’s shoulder.  The admiral was not only offering support and trust in Shepard, but there was a commanding, paternal and expectant air to the simple touch.  Hackett wanted more from Shepard, and the message was not one of ‘Good Luck’ nor ‘Godspeed’.  What else was the admiral trying to do?

Shepard sat stiffly, his eyes haunted.  He was tired, worn, and weary.  All to be expected considering the events of the last year.  He never had a break, a chance to stop, to rest, or reboot his mind.  She worried for him and hoped his mind was strong enough to see them through the end.  He sought her on occasion and seemed to find peace in her presence. Though she knew he struggled with stress, he carried himself with purpose and strength; it was impressive.

The fatigue in his eyes was new. He kept that well hidden and it shocked her she did not see beneath the surface to his struggling. She had grown lax with her growing affections for him and more guilt weighed upon her. She should have paid more attention to his mind and struggles.

Hackett saluted and exited the medbay.  

Miranda pushed away from the counter and moved to intercept the admiral.  Hackett turned to her as she approached and he clasped his hands behind his back, a sign of fearless trust.  “Ah, Miranda Lawson.  Excellent warship you have here,” he tilted his head slightly as if admiring the craftsmanship of the ship.

“We improved upon the original prototype,” she answered calmly, calculating, and cautious.  She crossed her arms over her chest.  “It is better than the original Normandy in every capacity.”

“Perhaps in construction.  But the Normandy was a symbol of a galactic truce.  Cerberus can replicate the ship and call it anything they like, but the Normandy was lost years ago.”  Hackett reached out, touching one of the beams of the hull.  “Metal does not give the ship her heart, Ms. Lawson.  Its design and construction can be perfected, but the heart of the Normandy stopped beating a long time ago.”

“I would disagree.” She glanced to the medbay.  Shepard sat upon the medbay table, his head ducked, shoulders slumped and eyes closed.  She addressed the admiral again.  “It is under a great amount of stress but still beats strong.  And true.”

“Good point,” Hackett agreed, following her gaze to the medbay.  “I suppose you are my escort back to my ship?”

“To the hangar,” she clarified.  “We have some last minute preparations to make.” She gestured to her right.

Hackett exited the crew’s quarters, strolling down the corridor to the elevator.  “I saw Jacob Taylor in the hangar bay when I landed.  A fine soldier.”

“He is,” Miranda answered, cautiously.  What was his game?  Why mention Jacob?

“Shame he felt the need to defect to Cerberus.  The Alliance saw his potential and would he have signed up for another tour of duty, I’m sure promotions would have followed.”  He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting patiently at the elevator.  “Could say the same for you, Ms. Lawson.  You would have ascended quickly and been compensated generously.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” she replied.  “I’m surprised you didn’t seek us out yourself, Admiral.  Considering what happened in 2163.”  She observed him casually and felt the small inkling of victory at the slight tension that spread across Hackett’s back at her poignant reminder of his wavering moment of weakness when he met willingly with a Cerberus recruitment operative.  

The classified reports stated that Hackett’s faith in the Alliance faltered after he discovered the illegal research into artificial intelligence and he vehemently opposed the uncertain and potentially dangerous project.  The Illusive Man seized the opportunity to recruit prized individuals when the chance arose, and Hackett was no exception. His defection would have been a great victory for Cerberus.  In the end, Hackett did not defect, but the operative discovered vital information through subtle bug implantation.  Cerberus found the AI research facilities, infiltrated, stole the data, and began their own research.  Twenty years later, Cerberus successfully created AI and embedded it into a warship, though unshackled at the moment, courtesy of Joker.

When the elevator arrived, Hackett politely motioned for Miranda to enter first.  She did not hesitate to enter but was curious to the gesture.  He followed her inside and stood beside her.  She signaled for the fifth deck and Hackett waited patiently.  “The galaxy is a very different place now than it was then, Ms. Lawson.  And I have found it unwise to dwell on actions of the past.  It simply hinders your journey into the future.  Would you not agree?”

Hackett turned to her at the question, intelligent and inquisitive eyes boring through her as if searching for an answer or a kink in the armor of the woman before him.  Miranda remained guarded, uncertain at the probing gaze and quickly sorted through possibilities.  The admiral was making strategically important statements as if he were gauging her reaction to them.  What were his motives?  What was he trying to accomplish?  “I would agree, Admiral.  However, just because we do not dwell on the actions of the past does not mean we do not remember them and their consequences.  It is the only way to learn so that wise decisions can be made in the future.”

“This is true,” Hackett said.  “Frankly, that is why I find you very confusing.  I’m sure you read the Illusive Man’s manifesto.  Maybe even have it memorized.  The very core of Cerberus is tainted, held hostage by the irrational and radical delusions of a madman.  Any good work you do is forgotten and blackened under his leadership.  You’re intelligent enough and high enough within the organization to see this and recognize it for what it is.  And yet you still remain with them.”

The door to the elevator opened and Hackett motioned to the door.  “Ladies first.”

She resisted the initial response to protect her flank and not give an enemy her back. The notion was ridiculous. Hackett engaged her in a dance of wits, and she was determined to match him step for step. She stepped out of the elevator. “Why should anything I do fascinate you?  I would think you have more important things to worry about, considering the delicate balance the Alliance stands in with the Council races after the Battle for the Citadel.”

Hackett smirked and exited the elevator. He walked beside her down the corridor to the hangar bay.  “A smooth deflection, Ms. Lawson.  The politics are Udina’s and Anderson’s problems.  Not mine.  I have to defer to politics, but I’m concerned with military ramifications.  If what Shepard said is correct and the reaper forces are coming this way, we need to be ready.  This mission of yours with the Collectors is just a skirmish.  The war has not yet begun.”

“Cerberus has been preparing for the coming war since Shepard’s first warnings.  That is more than I can say the Alliance is doing.”

“The Alliance cannot work in blatant disregard to treaties and intergalactic politics.  And though the political elite may be ignoring the pending threat, the military is not.  We are preparing.”  

Hackett stepped into the hangar. Two heavily armed Alliance soldiers stood guard outside Hackett's shuttle.  Nearby, Grunt leaned against a large crate, holding his shotgun with the barrel resting against his shoulder. Jacob stood next to Grunt, his arms crossed over his chest.  

Hackett ignored the tension in the room and stopped near the entrance for the shuttle.  “Make sure you all come back from this alive.  It would be a shame for humanity to lose so many brave fighters before the war is upon us.  That includes you, Ms. Lawson.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and responded, “I find it hard to believe the Alliance cares whether or not I return from this mission.”

“On the contrary, some of us care very much.  We’re aware of some of your work.  For example, Project Pinto and Project Poseidon.”

How did they know about those highly classified projects?  Keenly aware that Hackett watched her reaction closely, she showed no response to his mention of those projects.  Instead, she motioned to shuttle.  “We all do great work for humanity.  It is just the master who pulls the strings that differs.”

Hackett chuckled.  “Indeed, Ms. Lawson.”  He inclined his head in polite farewell then climbed the ramp onto his shuttle.  The Alliance soldiers followed.

When the ramp elevated, Miranda turned and left the hangar bay.  It was disconcerting for Hackett to know about the two classified projects.  Cerberus was known for controlling leaks and preventing data from slipping outside the organization.  For the Alliance to know about two of her projects was problematic. Their knowledge was all the more alarming since she served on the projects successively.

Project Pinto was the first project she was tasked with leading.  Research began three years prior to her assignment and she entered to replace an operative deemed incompetent in 2173.  Cerberus was attempting to create something for military personnel to accomplish increased physical performance with the focus on jump heights, jump distance, weight lifting, and run speeds.

Two concepts emerged from Project Pinto.  The first was a steroid-like serum that doubled the healing time of muscle injury.  The second was a skeletal implant twice as strong as the usual medical joints and bone stabilizers.  When combining the skeletal implants with the serum, injured soldiers recovered at nearly triple the speed with minor adverse effects.  The research was pivotal years later during the Lazarus Project.

Poseidon was a project within the research division of Cerberus attempting to create an environmental respirator that filtered existing atmosphere into a breathable atmosphere through only a facial mask.  A daunting task, Miranda relished the opportunity to lead the research in a field in which she had little experience.  She read voraciously, educating herself on all the science behind the prospective goal.

Despite her enthusiasm, the project stumbled at numerous blocks.  In the end, they succeeded in extending the filtration of facial masks within a breathable environment by 72 hours, totaling one week on a single filtration cartridge.  

Cerberus built research and military facilities within hostile environments to elude Alliance patrols and colonial expansion. The cartridges aided Cerberus in such circumstances. Despite the benefit to Cerberus operations, the accomplishment was far beneath Miranda’s aspiration.  

Alliance interest in the long-life filter cartridges was not surprising, but who was feeding that information to Admiral Hackett?  Was the information widely known or was it only known by the elite and higher ranked officers?  Her co-workers differed on each assignment, which meant that there was more than one mole within Cerberus.  Was the Alliance following her or was their reach simply extensive?

Why did Hackett show his hand?  

Miranda stepped into her office and slipped into the chair at her desk.  “EDI, where is Commander Shepard?”

“Commander Shepard is in the weight room on the crew deck with Mr. Taylor.”

She tapped her fingertips on the desk in reflective thought then opened a communications feed on her terminal and debated contacting the Illusive Man.  She hesitated, never one to act rashly and without thought.  She closed the communications feed and instead accessed the Cerberus main network, this time through encrypted protocols.

+++

After leaving the medical bay, Shepard stood under the steady stream of hot water in his private bathroom.  His shoulders slumped slightly as he stared blankly at the tiles of the wall, his mind drifting in absent thought.  Steam filled the small quarters.  Shaking his head as if waking from a daze, he picked up the bar of unscented soap and washed his body then his head.  Placing the bar back, he stood under the stream again and rinsed, trance-like.

It was some time later when Shepard startled out of his thoughts and he looked around the bathroom, confused.  White steam hung in the air and his back was burned and reddened from the pounding hot water.  He turned off the shower and tore a towel off the hook by the sink.  Drying his body, he tossed the towel over the sink and strode from the bathroom.  

He tugged a pair of snug-fitting boxers from the drawer near his bed.  Pulling them up, his brow furrowed in reflection.  Did destroying the relay merely delay the inevitable?  The reapers were coming and if they could not travel by relay, they likely would travel through dark space.  He may have given the galaxy a few more months, at most, but was it enough for them to prepare?  Would it even matter?

Picking up the Cerberus pants on his crisply made bed, he stepped into the legs.  The galaxy did nothing in preparation since his death years ago and all of his warnings were dismissed as the rambling nonsense of a mentally traumatized soldier.  Hackett and Anderson believed Shepard.  But the support of two powerful military officers in the Alliance did nothing to rouse the urgency in the other Council races or humanity.

Shepard jerked the tight shirt down over his head and thrust his arms through the short sleeves.  If the galaxy didn’t care about the reapers, why did he?  Why should he kill himself again and put himself and his crew through the stress and dangers of the battle if no one else wanted to fight or resist?  

He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, pulling up his socks then tying his boots tightly.  Anger surged through him.  He continued to place himself in constant risk to stop the invasion of an all-powerful force for a galaxy that had no interest in its own survival.  

_Oh, parts of a reaper on the Citadel?  That’s just pieces of a geth warship, we’ll just toss those away.  There.  Gone.  See?  Everything is fine.  Did you hear that ‘Terminus Wars 5’ is coming out this weekend?  You should check it out._

Shepard pushed to his feet and crossed the cabin to the elevator.  He had not enjoyed a movie in years, gone to a concert, or had an evening out.  The last social thing he did was dinner with his mother, which he would not describe as a fun, relaxing evening out.  Instead, he dodged firefights, investigated colonist disappearances, and gathered evidence to combat the reapers. He risked his life and sanity on a daily basis.  But in the galaxy, it was business as usual.  

He exited the elevator on the third deck of the Normandy and strode down the battery tunnel.  Cutting to the right, he descended the stairs leading to the darkened crews quarters.  A frustrated rage seethed beneath the surface and Shepard knew he had to release the energy before engaging the collectors.  He needed to be calm, focused and steady or else his team could suffer losses.  Losses that would be his fault because he was unable to do his job.

But he wanted a break.  He wanted to quit and to stop, to rest and let someone else save the galaxy again.  A nagging displeasure pecked at the back corner of his mind, an anger directed at Miranda and the Illusive Man for resurrecting him.  He saved the galaxy once, stopping Saren and Sovereign and giving the galaxy all the warnings and evidence needed to prepare for the coming invasion.  When he died, his job was completed and they should have left him dead.  But no, he was resurrected and for what?

Shepard paused outside the weight room, and his fists clenched in agitation.  They resurrected him to play errand boy and savior yet again.  To run a team into the center of a storm and hope they could survive.  Why did the weight of so many lives rest on his shoulders?  And why did he have to make the decision to kill 300,000 of those lives just to stop an invasion from happening?  If he let the reapers through the Alpha relay, the galaxy couldn’t ignore the dangers then.  He wouldn’t have been labeled a war criminal and be subject to the political venom by the ignorant masses.

In that moment, he wanted to turn against them all.  He wanted to call out the Council and Alliance for their blatant mishandling of his warnings and the dangers to come. After flipping off the Council, he wanted to expose the Illusive Man for his shady business practices and mysterious, likely diabolical goals.  

Due to her tenacity, Miranda refused to give up on the impossible task of resurrecting him from the dead despite the statistical improbability of success.  At that moment, he wished she refused the job. Did the Lazarus Project even work? He still did not feel exactly like the same man.  The problem was that he could not remember exactly what and who he was before his death to even identify what may have changed.  Or maybe it was just the stress and frustration causing his doubts.

He possessed the same memories but was he the same soul?  Did he have a soul?  Was there a point or an afterlife?  Miranda had placated him once and convinced him it did not matter because he should fight to be free.  Perhaps she was right.  But it was not about being free.  He just wanted it to end and if that was with his death or the reaper's death, he no longer cared.  

It had to stop.  Everything accelerated so quickly and he was forced to keep pace.  Shepard would not fall, but at what cost?  He pushed himself beyond reasonable expectations and at some point, he knew it would be too much.  Would anyone care then?

He stormed into the weight room and paused at the entrance, his eyes scanning the room.  Jacob hung upside down from a long bar at the far end, his knees bent and ankles locked together.  He was shirtless and sweating with arms crossed over his chest as his abs contracted and he sat up.  “Commander,” Jacob greeted, his breathing heavy.  He sat up again.  “Blowing off some steam?”  He hung from his knees, arms dangling at the stretch.

“Thinking about it,” Shepard said.  “Maybe a run.  Feeling up for it, soldier?”

Jacob grinned and sat up, gripping the bar with his hands so he could swing down.  Dismounting from the bar, he picked up a towel on the floor and wiped his face then the back of his neck.  “Hoorah, Commander!  Let’s do this.”

+++

Miranda exited the Cerberus network and closed her terminal.  With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward and rubbed her dried and worn eyes.  She always stared a little too hard at the screens, focused and unblinking as she quickly read and absorbed data at an inhuman speed.  The speed-reading talent came in handy quite often, though the result was often achy and fatigued eyes.  

Ceberus kept little about personnel from previous projects, a tactic that ensured nothing could be leaked to link individuals with any projects other than their current assignment.  Miranda hoped her credentials allowed her access to more in-depth information on certain personnel, but she found her access blocked even to their educational records.  Her ranking within the organization permitted her access to those records under normal circumstances.  Why, suddenly, did they not work?

Was it her close and intimate relationship to Commander Shepard or was it an immediate response to the rendezvous with Admiral Hackett?  Did the Illusive Man doubt her loyalty to Cerberus and could he be already engaging in the procedures to burn her?  She could not afford to be distracted this close to the final mission.  She hoped that Oriana was safe for the time being and it was only her paranoia - a learned trait - that caused these thoughts.

“EDI, have we started for the Omega Nebula?”

“Yes, Operative Lawson,” EDI replied.  “The Normandy will be at Sahrabarik in 13 hours 24 minutes.”

“Thank you, EDI.  Is Commander Shepard in his cabin?”

“No, Operative Lawson,” EDI stated.  “He is in the weight room on the crew deck.”

“Still?” Miranda frowned and lowered her hands from her eyes.  “Is Jacob still with him?”

“Mr. Taylor retired to his quarters 27 minutes ago.”

“Is the weight room still in one piece or has he destroyed it again?”

“Everything appears to be intact,” EDI said and the screen of Miranda’s terminal flickered then displayed the camera feed of the weight room.  Nothing was destroyed and Shepard was alone, running at a quick clip on the treadmill.

Miranda stood from her desk and left her office.  Stopping at the mess sergeant station, she grabbed one of the water canteens from the cooling fridge and turned down the battery tunnel.  She walked through the door of the weight room.  Shirtless, Shepard ran upon the treadmill, his pace fast and steady.  Sweat dripped from his body, his muscles relaxed as he focused blankly ahead.  Tight pants hung low on his hips and his boots pounded with each stride, rhythmic.  He licked his parted lips, panting lightly but did not slow his pace despite his obvious fatigue.

She slowly crossed the room, walking in front of him and around the row of treadmills.  He showed no acknowledgment to her presence.  She stepped up onto the treadmill beside him and leaned casually against the arm, studying his features.  He was focused, trance-like as he ran, his mind in that zone beyond awareness.  A stubborn bead of sweat dangled from his brow in front of his eye; he did not wipe it away.

She worried about him.  It was unlike him not to voice his concerns, his worries, or his thoughts especially after something as drastic as what happened with the Alpha relay.  She feared he danced a sharp edge, trying to stay balanced and not plummet into self-doubt, hysteria, and grief.  She glanced at the counters on the treadmill.  A little over an hour and a good start into his sixth mile.  She knew he was tired and pushed to his near breaking point both mentally and physically.  They only had one more mission and did not have the time he needed to decompress.

She needed to distract him.  He could not afford to be exhausted, stressed, or obsessed with the past.  “John,” she purred his name, her tone laced with a sultry tease.  

His head snapped to the side at the seductive timbre in her voice, though his pace never stuttered.

Her eyes slowly skimmed down his body, blatantly admiring the lean, sinewy muscles of his shoulders, his arms and chest then dipped lower to his narrow waist and hips.  “I see you’re exerting a lot of energy.”  Slowly, she shifted her weight, leaning into her hip, acutely aware that his eyes darted to her hips at the movement.   “And for some reason, you didn’t have the courtesy to invite me.”

He slapped the big red button on the console of the treadmill; the tread slowed then stopped.  Panting heavily, he watched her with darkening desire and rested his hands on his knees, leaning over in exhaustion.  “Wasn’t sure if a two hour run … was your idea of a good time.”

Her lips quirked just slightly at the corner and the tip of her tongue touched her front teeth.  “Never had a problem keeping up with you for two hours before.”

He watched the delicate lines of her mouth and that taunting tongue.  He grinned.  “Why, Ms. Lawson, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”

“Believe?” she chuckled and offered him the canteen.  “If you only ‘believe’ I am flirting with you, I’m a bit rusty.”  When he took the canteen, she arched a taunting brow.  “Perhaps, I should try harder?”

He twisted off the cap and handed it to her.  “I’d love to see that.”  He drank deeply of the canteen then closed his eyes and poured more of the water over his head.  Shaking like a dog, he scratched away the water from his hair and pulled his hand down over his face.  He blinked away the sweat and water.  “So please,” he plucked the cap from her outstretched hand.  “Do your worst.”

“My worst?  Don’t you mean my best?” she questioned, flirtatiously.  “I’m just not sure you can take it.”

His blood pounded at her taunting hum, desire raging through his veins.  His heart raced from both the exercise and her seduction.  He knew she was using her wiles and training on him but he didn’t care.  He was more than a mark to her and her words were genuine.  She was playful, coquettish, sexy, and confident.  She was irresistible.

He twisted the cap back onto the canteen and placed it on the console of his treadmill.  “I’m pretty sure I can take anything you can give, Ms. Lawson.”   He stepped across the small gap between their treadmills and placed his hands upon each extending arm of the equipment, effectively trapping her against her console.

Unphased, she openly admired his body.  “I like this,” she admitted and reached out, running gloved fingertips along his defined chest muscles then down over his carved abs.  

His muscles twitched at the touch.  “Yeah?  Perfect human specimen?”

“Very much so,” she affirmed.  "I could think of worse things to stare at than your superior masculine physique. Shall we say you are … captivating?"  Her palm splayed on his chiseled abdomen and slid along his waist.

He leaned into her touch. “And what do you find so captivating?”

“Well, the whole package is very nice,” she replied and brushed her hand up his body to glide along his shoulder and the cut muscles of his arms.  “But, I’m quite fond of this here.”  She slid her hand under his arm to touch his back.  “And this back here.”

“Yeah?” he stepped closer to her and his eyes traveled down her body.  Her breasts were full, her waist, taut, accentuating the perfect hourglass figure.  His favorite part?  Her luscious hips meant to cradle a man, and he loved settling between those strong and toned thighs.  His hands abandoned the arms of the treadmill and instead rested on her hips then eased down to her thighs.  “I’m a fan of these here, myself.  Leg man and all.”

“I know,” she teased her fingers beneath the band of his pants and traced around his waist to his front.  “I’ve seen you staring at times.  You’re not very subtle.”

He rocked forward when she tugged playfully on the waistband of his pants and he stepped closer.  “Never been accused of that before.  And now I think it’s pretty obvious you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Mmmm, I’m glad you’ve noticed.”  She tilted her head and peered up at him with a calm searching expression.  “Is it working?”

“Yeah,” he answered with a slow nod, and he sighed, pressing his forehead to hers.  His eyes closed.  “It’s helping.”

One hand slid around his waist as the other reached up to cup the back of his head, keeping him close.  “Are you alright?”

“No,” he whispered.  “But I don’t have a choice.  I have to keep going.”

She hugged him, ignoring the sweat on his body and when he buried his head in her throat, she kissed his ear.  “Just a little longer, John.  This is it now.”

His arms tightened.  “I’m a war criminal.”

“You are not,” she vehemently defended.  “That may be what the Alliance has labeled you but it is not what you are.”

“300,000 Batarians are dead,” he whispered.  “How am I not?”

“You delayed the Reapers' arrival.” She replied and eased him back to search his eyes.  She cupped his cheeks, stroked the stress lines on his brow.  “If you did not do what you did, millions more would be dead.  Maybe tens of millions.”

Reaching up, he pulled her hand down from his face and intertwined their fingers.  “I told Hackett that if we survive this, I’d turn myself in.”

She scowled.  “What?  Why would you do that?”

“Doesn’t matter.  The galaxy considers me a war criminal and I have to do this.  I can’t just run from it.  Then they’re pulling resources away from preparing for the reapers so they can hunt me.”

“Not true,” she replied.  “Somehow, you’ve managed to convince yourself to fall on your sword for them and I really don’t understand why.  We have had this discussion before, Shepard.  That sometimes you will have to sacrifice the few for the many.”  She jostled him when he opened his mouth to retort and her eyes narrowed in intensity to silence him.  “And it is not supposed to be easy.  It will weigh on you and maybe haunt you for the rest of your life, however long or short that may be.”

He forced out a laugh and shook his head.  “Baby, that doesn’t change the fact that I chose to steer an asteroid to collide with a mass effect relay and obliterated life in an entire solar system.  The batarians are just the ones we knew were sentient.  How many others things did I destroy with that decision?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, sharply.  “And you should not have gone alone. I would have gone with you, as would anyone on this ship. So why did you go alone?”

“I promised Hackett I would. Plus, you weren’t ready,” he shot back and paced away from her, yanking his shirt from the neighboring treadmill and fisting it tightly in his hand.  “Neither was Jack and I needed to move fast and quick.  The fewer, the better, or they might have killed Kenson.  I didn’t want to put anyone else at risk for this mission.  It was a personal favor for Hackett and the Alliance and had nothing to do with stopping the Collectors.”

“None of those arguments change the fact that I would have gone with you to rescue Hackett’s scientist.  And if you didn’t want to take me, you could have taken Kasumi or Thane since you seem to think you are an infiltrator now.”

His jaw tensed, muscles clenched, and he glared at her.  “It worked.  I succeeded.”

“I’m not doubting you, Shepard,” she said and stepped up to him without fear.  “You are resourceful, persistent, quick-thinking and you always win.  All I’m saying is that you carry all of this weight alone and without complaint.  You’re not alone and you never have been.  We are all here to share the load with you.”

He looked away from her and stared at his reflection in the mirror of the weight room.

She cupped his cheek, turning his gaze back to hers.  “Your crew has always been here for you ...  me, included.”

He swallowed hard when she brushed a gloved thumb over his lower lip and he moved closer to her. She did that often, stroking his mouth, and he loved the sensation, as if the touch was a soft kiss. Sometimes, her biotics pulsed from her thumb at the gesture and his entire body trembled at the sensation. Oh, how she could weaken his knees with just a touch, and he savored every moment.

Hugging her again, he nuzzled her throat then inhaled deeply, his nose buried in her hair.  Intoxicating.  She had the faint hint of something fruity, clean, or maybe it was floral.  He didn’t know but he loved it too.  “Mmm, you always smell so good.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s different,” he inhaled again.  “New.  I don’t remember it from when our mission first started.”

“It is new,” she said and scratched at the shorn hairline at the back of his neck.  “During our last shore leave, I thought that perhaps I should start trying to attract you.”

He eased back and gazed down at her incredulously.  “Wait, so you’re saying that out of the … oh, seven months that we’ve been on this mission, you’ve only started trying to attract me over the last four.”

She smirked playfully.  “Mmm hmm.”

“That’s not even fair,” he laughed.  “You didn’t even try and my tongue was hanging out of my mouth.”

“Is that so?” she chuckled softly and affectionately traced his jaw.

“Yep.”  A smile slowly spread across his face.  “I’m so god damned lucky.”  He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

“Yes, you are,” she agreed with a coy smirk and slipped a hand along his waist.  Her head tilted slightly and her lips brushed his fingertips.  Holding his gaze, her tongue darted out to tease his finger tip.  

His eyes darkened and his breath quickened as he watched her draw the tip of his middle finger into her mouth.  She nipped playfully, taunted and teased.  His mind raced far away from the implications of the last few days.  He saw only Miranda’s blatant seduction, and his body clenched as unadulterated desire tightened his core.  The moment etched into his mind as she teased the tip of his finger and her eyes flared with hunger.  

How could he be angry with her about the Lazarus project or regret his own resurrection when the most stunning woman in the galaxy was seducing him?  She helped bring him peace, calm, and purpose, guiding him when he was lost in the rage, the pain, or the memories.  She was the beacon in the dark mess that haunted and challenged the galaxy.

_What a sap!_  He mentally scolded himself but frankly, he didn’t care.  He was crazy about her and she was the only thing keeping him from teetering into despair and madness.  Even his friendship with Garrus would not pull him back from the brink of violence and anger if he succumbed to those darker callings.  

Miranda would not let him fall to those enemies.  She kept him focused and refused to release him.  With her wit, her humor, intelligence, and whatever that was she was doing with her tongue.  He imagined her mimicking that same skill on other parts of his anatomy and he could not hold back the growl from rumbling in his chest.

He fantasized of everything she could do with that tongue and where she would do it.  He craved her touch and her mouth.  A vivid vision of Miranda on her knees before him thrust into his mind and his pulse quickened.  She was using every skill she learned as an operative to seduce him and he didn’t care.  As long as he was the only one on the receiving end of her gifts, he’d bask in them every day.  Lips parted, he pushed his finger a little deeper into her mouth.

With seductive amusement, she obliged him and toyed with him, taunting him with what she could offer to other parts of his body.  She watched him carefully, knowing she balanced upon a dangerous line and though she wanted him riled, she did not want him to lose control too soon.  She released his finger and gripped his bicep with a firm touch.  Leaning into him, she husked in his ear.  “Engine room.  Be there in five minutes.”

He shivered and his mind raced to all the possibilities and everything he would do to her.  He hissed when her free hand grazed over the front of his pants and he dared to arch his hips into her touch.  But she stepped away and slipped under his arm.  He twisted at the waist and his fist clenched as he resisted the urge to pull her back against him … to lift her, pin her to the wall, and tear the clothes from her body.  Maybe with his teeth.  He wanted to devour her.

She offered a playful wink and her tongue peeked from her lips to touch the corner of her mouth, her eyes scanning down his body as if she harbored her own fantasies.  He’d fulfill every one of them.  Five minutes? Not likely. Tossing his shirt onto the treadmill, he followed her.  


	28. Chapter 28

The engine room.

Why would Miranda clear the engine room?  With the crew gone, the only two she had in the engine room were Tali and Jack.  Would Tali just abandon her post in the engine room?  Perhaps to sleep.  With EDI unshackled, the AI had full access to all Normandy.  Most of the crew weren’t even necessary to run the ship anymore.

When she whispered her destination in his ear, he shivered at the seductive lilt to her voice.  A tease, a taunt as if she challenged him to meet her.  Did she think he wouldn’t?  They had been together in his cabin and hers countless times.  Why would she avoid it now?  She obviously wanted him.  The whole show in the weight room plus the sway of her hips as she walked away from him was a big hint.  If he were totally oblivious to that, by some odd turn of events, the coy smile and playful wink made her desires blatantly clear.

What exactly made the engine room the best?

Shepard stepped off the elevator onto the engineering deck.  He explored the immediate area near the engine room.  Jack was not in her usual place beneath engineering, and Tali was not at her station.  Miranda stood at the console nearest the drive core.  He paused and smiled, his eyes trailing down the long sleek line of her back before settling on her perfectly rounded backside.   _Damn, she was fine_.   _And those legs_.  

His gaze continued down, admiring the contoured muscles.  She looked delicate, maybe even slender, but it was an illusion.  There was nothing soft about Miranda Lawson.  There was strength and power in her, especially those legs.

He crossed the grated causeway to her and stepped up behind her, molding to her as his hands slid around her hips. She jumped at the content then sighed and leaned back into him.  He smirked and playfully peered over her shoulder.  She turned her head slightly to glance at him and teasingly shifted her weight to brush against him.

“Tease,” he growled as blood surged to his groin.  His hands tightened and he turned her quickly.  She spun to face him, gripping the edge of the console and lifted up slightly to meet his lips.  He kissed her hard, sound and taunting.  She knew she teased him.  She always did.  He pressed her firmly against the console, and his lips traveled along her jaw then to her throat.

Easily, he lifted her so she sat on the edge of the console and he stepped between her legs.  Her hands abandoned the console to grip his shoulders then press firmly along the muscles.  He gazed up at her and licked his lips.  “Why here?” he gruffly asked.  “Engine room?”

She stroked his throat then cupped his cheeks, kissing him softly.  “He can’t hear us here.”

He pulled back enough to look up at her with a furrowed brow and thoughtful expression.  “What?”

“There are no microphones.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the engine core.  “The drive core,” she answered.  “It interferes with microphones. It's the closest thing to privacy we will ever get onboard.”

He squeezed her hips and when she faced him again, he kissed her.  She sighed, leaning into him.  The console beeped three times and they broke apart to look down.  Chuckling, he lifted her and her legs clamped around his waist.  Spinning on his heels, he pressed her against the nearby wall.  

She arched her hips against him for balance and reached behind her, running her hands along the wall for leverage.  When he tried to pin her, she pushed off the wall.  His eyes widened and he stepped back then lost his balance.  His knees bent to cushion his fall and he grunted when he landed on his back.

She braced against him at the impact then planted her knees at his side as she pushed upright, offering a circular grind against him.  His abs contracted slightly, shoulders lifting off the floor.  He paused when she released him, watching him with hunger as she unbuttoned the top flap of her catsuit.  She bit her lower lip and slowly unzipped the suit to the waist.  Reaching up with both hands, she pulled open the front, shrugging it off her shoulders.

Exposed from neck to waist with shoulders bared, she pressed her hands into his abs as she shifted her balance upon him.  His eyes darkened with lust at her exposed body, so perfect and pale against the contrast of her black lace bra.  He sat up and kissed her chest, her collar, her throat.  Hands sliding up her back, he gripped the fabric and tugged, pulling it further down.

She sighed when his bare hands splayed on the skin of her back.  She pushed at his chest to force him down again, but he didn’t release her and she fell forward.  Hands spread on his chest, she kissed him hotly once then again before pushing up.  Fingers raked down his chest and tickled along his abdomen to fiddle with his belt.

He rubbed his palms over her thighs and up her sides.  He tugged on her suit, freeing one of her hands then the other.  Once freed, she ran her palms along his abs and his eyes fluttered, head falling back at the sensation.

He deftly flicked the clasps of her boots on her thighs.  “Off,” he rumbled.  She pushed on his chest, rocking forward then back onto her feet as she stood.  His eyes opened as she moved, and he tensed at the sight.  She stood over him, feet planted to either side of his hips as she worked free the various clasps of her boots. Her knees locked and back flattened as she moved lower.  What a sight.  

She took two steps back, leaning against the wall as she tugged off one boot then placed it carefully at her side.  Her gaze focused on the front of his pants, dark with hunger.  His blood surged at her stare, and he winced.

He jerked at the buttons on the front of his pants as she removed the second boot.  She turned slightly then, peeling the suit down her body.  Provocative and alluring, she slowly stripped away the white fabric, offering him a tantalizing profile view of her body.  His hands stilled, enraptured at the sight.  He swallowed hard when she sauntered to him, glorious as she straddled his thighs, a foot to either side.  She wore only that lace black bra and sleek high-hip panties.  He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to tear away the last obstacles to her succulent flesh.

In truth, he loved the view and the give and take game they often played.  If she wanted to be perched above him like some Valkyrie goddess, he was more than happy to indulge in that fantasy.  His eyes raked every inch of her body, and when she dropped to her knees, sitting on his hips, he groaned, arching up against her.

She pressed her hands into his chest, lifting up off of him onto her knees.  Biotic tendrils flared from her hands, hovering over his body then sliding up along his face.  He shivered at the cold and electric change to the atmosphere.  She braced her left forearm across his chest, and he watched her curiously.  Her right hand slid down his body and lower over his abdomen.

Her hand stilled just below his navel.  The biotics lashed out over his groin, and his eyes rolled back into his head as the tendrils wound around him, sliding over him, stroked him.  It was cold, firm, and every cell tingled as if injected with seductive stimulation.  His hips arched into the energy, unable to resist.

He clenched his teeth, his back and shoulders tensing as he fought back the racing rise of pleasure.  Forcing his eyes open, he peered down at her.  She rested her chin on her forearm on his chest, watching him with a calm expression.  When his eyes met hers, she grinned wickedly and increased the pressure of her biotics, slightly.

A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat.  “Tease.”

“You like it,” she purred and her fingers brushed lower.

“God,” he gasped and his hips bucked.  “Ah, yeah.  Yeah, I do.”  He unclenched his fists and forced his gaze to focus on her.  When her hand twisted slightly and the biotics shifted, he groaned, eyes fluttering.  He squirmed a little then suddenly reached between them and his hand cupped her, slipping beneath the fabric, and his fingers teased at her sensitive flesh.

Her biotics trembled then lost their focus, and a surprised moan slipped from her lips.  She ducked her head, forehead pressed to her forearm, and he felt her quick exhale of breath against his chest.  He eased his fingers within her, exploring and testing.  He was gentle at first with a slow, easy rhythm.  She pressed down on his hand and he smiled, eyes closing as he pulled up into her.  His hand guided her, coaxing her, and his thumb sought her most sensitive point.  

Her legs trembled and her body clenched as she tried to maintain her position.  His free hand slid along her calf then gripped her thigh.  She pressed harder down upon him and when his touch intensified, she quaked and released a shaky sigh.  He smiled triumphantly at her pleasure as he continued through the heady high, his fingers relentless.

Her back bowed a little, almost cat-like.  His hands abandoned her to reach between them to free himself.  Her palms splayed upon his chest and she pushed up, eyes dazed with sex and satisfied relief.  He growled at the sight and his back arched when she didn’t hesitate to sink upon him, joining them.

He muttered a low curse, the muscles along his back tensing from shoulders to toes.  She lifted up a little and kissed him deeply before pressing back and sitting straight up.  He watched her as she moved on him, and his hands tightly gripped her thighs as he held her to him.  It was a heady and erotic sight to watch her grind and ride him still dressed in those tantalizing undergarments.

He clenched his teeth, bucking and moving with her. He tried to clear his thoughts, to extend their time as long as he could, but it was impossible.  He could not wipe away the image of her or the incredible sensation of being with her.  She pressed on his lower abdomen, angling him, and he grunted.  Her head ducked forward, eyes squeezed tightly closed, and only when he saw and felt her quiver did he release her thighs to instead grip her hips.  He quickened, hardened his movements, and after a few seconds of frenzied abandon, he found blissful satisfaction.

When realization returned to him, he relaxed against the cool metal grating of the floor.  Miranda was atop him, sprawled over his chest and they were still joined.  It was absolute perfection.  He slid his hands up her thighs to rub over her back.  She stirred then and shifted just a little so she could peer up at him from under a few strands of dark hair.  She arched a brow.  “Well, don’t you look pleased with yourself?”

He laughed, “Why wouldn’t I be?” He couldn’t suppress the small groan when she separated from him.  He refused to release her, forcing her to lay down on his chest again.  “You ok?”

“Mmm, perfect,” she hummed and nuzzled his throat, pressing a kiss to the tendons near his collar.

He stroked down her back then slowly up again, fingers tickling along her spine.  “He really can’t hear us here?”

She shook her head.  “No.  Cameras still work so if they had someone who read lips, they would still know what was said.”

“I see,” Shepard answered then ducked his head a little.  “So it’s the only place on board where he isn’t between us.  Sort of.”

She hummed her affirmative answer, and her hand slid up his chest to cup his cheek. She shifted a little to whisper in his ear. “He hasn’t been between us for a while.”

He jerked back swiftly, gazing at her with wide eyes.  The admission stunned and thrilled him.  He kissed her deeply, savoring her taste and tantalizing tongue.

When she pulled back, she stared at his mouth and brushed her fingers over his lower lip.  “Don’t be so happy.  I haven’t been forced to choose.”

“Yes, you have,” he corrected and slid his fingers through her hair.  He lifted up a little and kissed along her jaw to whisper in her ear.  “The chip.  You said so yourself.”  His mouth trailed down her throat to nibble at the sensitive tendons.

She shook her head.  “That’s not the same.”

“Twelve hours until Omega Relay rendezvous,” EDI announced ship-wide.  “Next notice at four hour mark.”

“It is the same to me,” Shepard answered and tilted her head back, his lips seeking hers.  “Come back to my cabin.”

She sighed and nodded, returning his kiss.  Too soon for him, she pressed her palms into his chest and pushed up and away.

+++

Miranda slowly roused. In sleep, she had curled into Shepard's side while he remained on his back. Her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hand on his chest and he wrapped his arm around her to hold her close. They slept in that position often lately, and she found herself enjoying the unusual, vulnerable position. It left her back exposed and her body trapped to him. Sometimes her leg slid over his or her hand gripped his side possessively as if to hug him close. She should be uneasy and anxious in the position, but instead, she felt comfortable and safe.

A few hours ago, Shepard had coaxed her to wake. He roused her gently, soft words in her ear and a tender teasing touch on her body. Once she woke, he stared into her eyes as if searching for something, desperate to say something.  He kissed her deeply before letting her sleep again. He never showed this sweet and nurturing side before. She wanted to hate it, to shrug it off as unnecessary but a small part of her – a very small part – loved his gentle attentions.

She prided herself on her ability to read people, to understand them, and predict them. Often, she knew more about them then they knew about themselves, but Shepard was harder to predict. Just as easily as she could predict something about him, another action would surprise her. She always enjoyed a mystery, but Shepard's variables proved more frustrated than intriguing. She felt disarmed, blind, and uncertain. She did not do well in those conditions, used to certainty, predictability, and a sure course.

Granted, she was forced to improvise when she worked in the field, but that was over a decade ago. She was rusty. The Cerberus employees she oversaw on various projects were far easier to gauge than international spies or special ops forces. She'd grown lax in the years, her pointed skills unchallenged, at least until her pet project awoke.

During the two years on the Lazarus Station, she tried to maintain a professional distance from her patient. She was determined to succeed at any cost, and watching him change from mangled corpse to physical perfection was a miraculous experience. They said it could not be done, but she refused to fail. Failure was never an option on a project so important. Humanity's future depended on her absolute success.

The galaxy was at a pivotal moment of their time. Yes, species constantly struggled with wars and conflicts, but nothing matched the magnitude of the threat posed by the Reapers. History would remember Commander John Shepard, but how it would remember him remained to be seen. Regardless, she believed completely in him. She did not before, and if she were honest with herself, she may have doubted it even during the Lazarus Project. How could Shepard rally a galaxy against such impossible odds? Could one man truly swing the balance in favor of their survival?

The answer was a whole-hearted, resounding 'Yes'.

Since his resurrection, Shepard's influence on her had grown, though he would deny it. He had carefully, and quite craftily, removed the blinders she wore at the sides of her eyes. She did not like to think of herself as heartless or cold, but some of her decisions solidified the labels that followed her through her career. She was called relentless, ruthless, driven, and unfeeling. A wall of ice-coated steel. It was all true.

Of all the names, Ice Queen was her favorite. It flattered her that the 'peasants' elevated her to the status of royalty. It was certainly better than bitch. That was the second most common name. She found the labels tiresome, but she had more important things to worry about than what the maintenance worker who scrubbed the floor thought of her. There were important projects to lead, results to be gained, and advancements to be made. If humanity wanted to play on the same stage as the salarians and the asari, they needed to catch up.

During the last month or so, Miranda found herself reflecting back on her previous projects, though now, she peered through a different colored lens. Courtesy of Shepard's growing influence on her, no doubt. However, she struggled with what she saw. She did not regret any of her choices. To do so would lead to guilt, depression, and perhaps insanity. She was too disciplined to succumb to the horrors of her past, and instead, she compartmentalized her actions, rationalized them.

All of her choices led to a greater good, so she thought. She refused to take away the breakthroughs in technology, medicine, and research that occurred under her guidance. It did not make all of those decisions easy to live with, especially those that bordered on unethical extremes. She willfully and gladly crossed that border many times during Project Lazarus.

Miranda focused on Shepard's profile and his strong stubble-covered jaw. He appeared so peaceful in sleep, as if the strains of war rested as well. She enjoyed watching him sleep, savoring the relaxed expression on his handsome face.

A few shallow scratches still marred his cheeks, a pulsing orange glow illuminated beneath the skin. No amount of cosmetic surgery could hide every scar, especially if he were freshly injured. The skin would heal again, and it should hide the orange glow, but he would never fully escape the perpetual reminder of the synthetics inside his body.

_*Flashback*_

Miranda leaned forward on the sleek desk in her office upon the Lazarus Station. She examined the three datapads on the desktop, pondering over the reports. She flicked a switch at the terminal and when a swirling tiny glyph appeared on the holo-communicator, she stoically addressed its camera. “Results continue to show promise. Skeletal structure is at 100% completion. Muscular structures at 87%. At this rate, subject will be removed from intubation within the month. Physical nervous systems are fully responsive. Muscle growth continues to respond to biotic manipulation. Facial structure is completed, however, full skin growth is proving far more complicated.”

She swiped her fingers over the second datapad. “Tissues grown in the lab from the subject's intact skin cells is slow, therefore progress is stalled until we can grow enough skin cells for a full tissue graft for parts of the torso and thighs. Grafting, however, will not be possible for the facial area as there is too much risk for scarring and facial deformity. Full facial reconstruction begins tomorrow with a procedure combining Shepard's somatic stem cells and biotic manipulation to increase growth rate. Only a very small amount of multipotent stem cells were available as the patient was too far degraded. By creating the perfect growth environment, we hope to create skin cells for implantation. With biotic manipulation, we will transplant these cells onto the subject's face. It is a long shot requiring exactitude. But if we want him to look like Commander Shepard, we have no other choice.”

She turned off the recording then sat back in the high-backed swiveling chair. With her elbow planted into the arm of the chair, she leaned to her side, the backs of her fingers brushing her lips in thought. Though biotic manipulation worked to stimulate nervous and muscle tissue, she wasn't so confident it could be used to ensure skin cells properly divided. Biotic massage required an exact touch, ensuring that the perfect temperature and infusing pressure were used. Too much and the muscles and nerves would tear, ripping violently apart or even causing blood vessels to burst. Instant death. Could it actually work on the cellular level?

Did she have enough control to use the tendrils of her biotics on his face? Delicate blood vessels, muscles and nerves covered the area and she would have to be even more cautious and exact than usual. Perfect. Was there ever a time perfection wasn't demanded of her? No. And failure could have catastrophic consequences.

Resolved, Miranda stood from her desk, left her office, and walked through the long corridors of the Lazarus Station to the reconstruction deck.  She entered the decontamination room and began the long arduous process.  She pulled on the white sterile scrubs and tucked her thick hair under the cap.  Hooking the mask behind her ears, she pushed on a pair of yellow-tinted glasses.  With no part of her body exposed, she stepped into the surgical room.

The patient lay upon the medical table.  Months ago, he was a pile of decomposing flesh, only modestly identifiable as a human form.  Now, his skeleton was completed and most of his muscles stretched tautly over his body.  Some of his skin regrew.  His calves and back were completed with only small mottled pockets to hint at the cybernetic tissue beneath.  Skin covered half of his chest, abdomen, groin, and thighs.  

She was pleased with the speed of his regeneration. Years ago, she headed a project where Ceberus developed a serum that increased regeneration rates of soft organic tissues. The moment she was assigned to the Lazarus project and the magnitude of her task was realized, Miranda thought that the same serum should work. Though the patient was no longer living, Cerberus still intended to regrow organs, muscles, bone and skin. There was no reason to think the Maxim Serum would not work with Patient Lazarus.

Luckily, she was right, and Patient Lazarus regenerated at a rate nearly two weeks ahead of schedule. Though regeneration stalled at the moment due to the complexity and exactitude required in the current stages, she was confident they would succeed.

She reached towards his one thigh, her hand hovering just above the exposed quad muscle.  A thin sheen of biotic energy extended from her hand and danced over the muscle.  His thigh clenched and released involuntarily, responding to her gentle manipulation.  The biotics extended down his calf to his feet then up over his groin and abdomen, continuing their stimulation.  She was pleased with his response.  All stimulated muscles contracted then released.  With continued stimulation, she hoped to see his muscle strength at peak levels so that upon waking the subject, physical therapy would be minimal.

Sweat beaded at her brow at her concentrated efforts, and her hand moved to his opposite thigh, calf then up to his chest, shoulders, and arms.  She repeated the process, effectively manipulating his muscles for almost an hour.  After the third pass, she pulled her hand back and released a slow controlled sigh.  Thirst dried her mouth and hunger rumbled her stomach, but she ignored their call.  

His muscles continued to twitch as if some electrical current spurred his nervous reaction.  It was a common side effect to her biotic manipulations.  Would the same procedure work on his face?  She leaned closer over him, head tilted to peer inquisitively at his features.

His jaw was broad and strong, well-defined with delicate muscles outlining his jaw, cheeks, and brow.  Doctors attached the tube-grown cartilage for his nose a week ago and results were promising.  Due to their exacting dedication to only using the subject’s stem cells and existing tissue, his body did not reject any work done.  By using his own tissue in addition to synthetic enhancement, the patient would not need a perpetual regiment of anti-rejection medications.

His brow was well defined and his skull had recently been fully repaired.  Growing bone proved much more difficult for his skull and titanium plating resulted for a quicker solution, a solution necessary to protect the delicate tissues of his brain.  His brain was mostly intact, somehow spared from the deterioration that rotted his other organs.  She did not question their luck. If his brain were damaged in any way, countless variables would have come into play during the resurrection process.

The most eerie thing about the patient at the moment was his lack of eyes.  The organs had deteriorated beyond repair and required full reconstruction.  The sockets were bare with tiny muscles lining the insides, muscles that would eventually control the eyes Cerberus implanted.  They already began preparations for the implantation.  An orange glowing synthetic material with a thickness less than a millimeter coated the back of his eye sockets.  It would replicate the exact and delicate receptors necessary for his retina to pass signals to the brain.  To ensure sight, the retina also needed to be synthetically enhanced.

She hoped it worked.  Complete eye implantation worked with rats, monkeys, and vorcha.  The current patient was the first human trial.  Eye growth was almost complete with sixteen different specimens available for implantation.  In two weeks, the first implantation would occur, but Miranda was skeptical about how to test for vision.  The patient was still intubated and comatose.  How could they test for eyesight without waking the patient?

She concluded it was too dangerous to risk waking him in the next few months.  Eye implantation would continue as planned and additional ocular specimens would be saved.  When the patient was stable, they could increase stimulants to wake him enough to see if he responded to light.  Full vision testing could commence at a later date.  The eyes could be replaced if necessary at that time.  Out of the sixteen growth samples, two had to work.

Cerberus experimented with eye enhancements and implants for months.  Improving retinal and brain communication was key to ensuring the patient saw when his eyes opened.  Despite all the research, she was still skeptical of advanced sight capabilities.  Just because rats could navigate a maze did not mean a human could aim down the sights of a sniper rifle.  

She turned from the patient and left the surgical room.  In the decontamination room, she removed her surgical gloves then the cap, mask, and glasses.  More research needed to be done.  If Patient Lazarus could not see when he awoke, the project failed.  A failure Miranda was unwilling to accept.

Removing the rest of the surgical scrubs, Miranda exited the surgical wing of the space station and activated the communications device on her omni-tool.  “Jenson, it’s Operative Lawson.  Status?”

The omni-tool crackled and after thirty seconds, a woman in her mid-fifties appeared through the holo-communication device.  Jenson wore a white lab coat and a high-colored blue blouse beneath.  Her blonde hair was tied back in a drastic bun, her eyes focused and cold as she answered Miranda’s call.  “Operative Lawson.  Fourteen of the ocular specimens are growing at normal and acceptable rates.  Two of the specimens have been destroyed due to abnormalities.  We are in the process of growing an additional four to make up for this loss.”

Miranda scowled.  “They will not be ready for the first attempted implantation scheduled for two weeks.  Unacceptable.”

“I apologize, Operative,” Jenson replied, “and take full responsibility for the error.”

“What happened?”

“Abnormal growth in the retinal tissue cannot guarantee at least 20/20 vision upon implantation.”

Miranda nodded.  “It is good to have them weeded out now.  Jenson, I’m still not convinced with the results of full sight capabilities with the eye implantation.  Bring up subject …” she tapped along her omni-tool, searching the database.  “15988 and try the implantation again.  I want to see if fine sight skills are retained.  Distance sight is top priority.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jenson answered.  “That is the last vorcha subject on the space station.  Shall I place a request for more?”

“I’ll handle that,” Miranda said coolly.  “You get started immediately with the implantation.  I want to see the results within the week.

“Yes, Operative,” Jenson stated and disconnected the feed.

** _End Flashback **_

With eyes closed, Miranda curled into Shepard’s side, her head pillowed on his chest as she listened to the strong rhythmic beating of his heart.  Her hand slid along his waist to pull herself closer to him, embracing him as she struggled through the harsh memory.  How different she was now?  

A year and a half ago, she did not hesitate to sentence vorcha prisoners to medical experiments in order to accomplish her impossible task.  She rationalized the decision because the vorcha used were captured criminals, murderers, and mercenaries who killed without cause and were a plague upon the galaxy.  But did that sentence them to the experiments she subjected upon them?

For her entire career, she focused on the goal with a modicum of regard to minor consequence, side effects, and collateral damage.  She admitted to Shepard when he questioned Cerberus goals that the organization pushed the very line of moral, ethical, and legal behavior, often crossing it if the goal was just and worthy.  Commander Shepard's vision was top priority and worth any risk or experiment.

The memory of the vorcha stretched upon the medical table unconscious, eyeless, and intubated haunted her.  At first, she compartmentalized the experiment but in recent months, the vision raced through her dreams, waking her in a cold, nauseating sweat.  The vorcha always regained sight in the end, but to put them through the process and to see how they reacted when awakened at various stages was cruel and unnecessary.

Wasn’t it?  They needed to know the full extent of the process so when the implantation began with Shepard, they knew with confidence that it would work.  They could not make a mistake.  They needed 100% success.

Was she any different than the monsters who experimented on Jack, on the Rachni?  Was she no different than her father?

Miranda squeezed her eyes tighter as she tried to will away the horrid nightmarish thought.  How cold she was to think of Shepard not as a man, but as a project.  She blocked any compassion for the human person and instead focused on the experiment. After all, he was Project Lazarus … Patient Lazarus and nothing more.  Distancing herself from the man allowed for her to witness the unusual and often bizarre procedures required to bring life back to a corpse.

In the months that followed the Lazarus Project, not only did she befriend her project but opened her mind and heart to him.  In only seven short months, he managed to tear away her carefully constructed walls and open her eyes to solutions both just and fair in the face of horrors and selfish greed.  His methods bordered on the extreme at times, but he always defended the helpless and fought valiantly for a solution to benefit the greater good.  No longer did she coldly and calmly calculate the most efficient response, but now multiple variables always hung in the balance, variables she never used to consider.

She had changed.

“You know,” Shepard interrupted her train of thought, his eyes still closed.  He grinned when she startled at his voice, jerking against his side, and he hummed, rubbing a hand along her bare back.  “You can stare all you like.  Makes me feel like the best looking guy you’ve ever seen.”

She smiled at that and willed her searing emotions to return to dormancy.  She shrugged, casually.  “Top twenty, perhaps.”  A colossal failure; she heard the hitch in her voice, the soft trembling.  Shepard surely would notice.

He shifted against her, tucking his chin into his chest to look down at her.  He heard the emotions trembling in her voice and wondered if she had a nightmare.  How long did she lay awake and struggling while he dozed?  Her head remained ducked against his chest and he reached towards her to gently coax her head back so he could see her face.  

She shook his hand away and eased up from him, blinking a few times before looking at him.

He watched as she desperately tried to hide whatever thoughts raced through her mind, and whatever they were, must have been pretty harsh.  “Hey, Baby,” he slid his fingers through her hair and leaned up a little to kiss the corner of her mouth then the corner of her eye where the slightest bit of moisture gathered.  “What is it?”

She forced a smile.  “Nothing.  Just a crisis of faith.  You know, the perfect thing to face now when we have the Collector base in a few hours.”

“I’ve been having one of those for a few months now,” he admitted deeply and lay back, head on the pillow.  He released her hair, opening his chest for her and the hand on her waist stroked absently.  “A crisis of faith about what?

“You … me,” she admitted, easily.  “And how everything has changed so quickly.”

“How so?”

She trailed a hand along his chest, watching the movement intensely.  How his skin depressed slightly at the contact.  How warm he felt to her touch. How when her hand rested over his heart, it beat steadily, rhythmic and strong.  “When they first brought you to me, you were unrecognizable.  Your armor kept you together for the most part but everything beneath it was …” she trailed off and closed her eyes, brow furrowed at the memory.  “You were an icy, rotting corpse.  Decomposition and juices everywhere and the smell.”  Her eyes popped open and she shook her head tightly.  “I will never forget that.  I can’t.”

She swallowed hard as if to keep the bile down from the phantom sensory memory.  “And Wilson thought it was hopeless.  Most of the medical staff didn’t think we could get your body functions working again much less your mind.  It was impossible, Shepard.  Truly, it was.”  She searched his face.  “A part of me doubted it too, but I wasn’t used to outright failure.  And I didn’t plan to start with you. I would succeed at any cost.”

He gently brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek.  He loved how her head always moved slightly at the touch, as if to nuzzle his fingers as a cat would crave the touch.  “Do you think of it often?  What that was like?”

“I can’t help it,” she answered and pushed back from him.  Gathering the sheet to her chest, she lifted up onto her knees, the action drawing the covers away from him, exposing the length of his nude body to her eyes.  She examined him with a concentrated professionalism and as one hand clenched the sheet to her, the other brushed down his chest to his abs.  “Most of this wasn’t here.  Soft tissue degenerates quickly.  Plus the vacuum of space tore apart your cells.  They just burst, your lungs collapsed, your heart exploded,”  she trailed off and her hand stilled as her mind traced back through the memories.  Again, she shook her head, clearing away the thoughts.  “Sometimes, I can’t believe that you’re actually here.  Alive and breathing.  I do wish that I knew you better before the project.  I knew what dossiers and reports said but to know you would have helped to guarantee this project truly worked.  Especially with your thoughts, how you acted, your memories.”

“I feel like me,” Shepard said.  “I have all of my memories, I think.  I have all my best traits and my worst.”  He reached out, resting a hand against her thigh, stroking through the sheet.  “I was angry earlier today.  With you and the Illusive Man for bringing me back for this whole mess.”  He sighed when she soothingly rubbed his chest, no judgment or anger in her eyes as she comforted him despite her own struggles.  She always put him first and he felt he did not deserve her, never could.  He rubbed her thigh.  “But blaming you for all my shortcomings isn’t fair.  It’s not your fault that I’m struggling with nightmares and having trouble sleeping.”

“I’ve done what I can to help you. Did you talk about these concerns with Dr. Chakwas or Yeoman Chambers?”

“Chambers?” He scoffed. “What, so she could hug me and make it all better?” He slowly shook his head and scratched near his ear. “Look, I'm sure she's perfectly qualified, but I wasn't going to talk to her about this. I suppose, I could have tried Dr. Chakwas or Mordin. I trust them, you know, but they're not psychologists.  Rationally, I know the nightmares are horrid memories, and my brain is just trying to process these last few years.”

She leaned towards him, splaying a hand on his cheek.  “I know you struggled and had moments but,” she sighed and shook her head, angry with herself.  “I’m sorry.  I should have paid more attention.  John, if you didn't trust Kelly Chambers, we could have brought another doctor on board of your choosing. Don’t you see that your health is important to us, to me?”

“Yours is important to me too,” he said.  “I should have noticed that you were battling your own demons.  I’m here for you, Miranda.  I don’t know if that’s what you need and I don’t really know what to do or say but …” he shrugged.  “I’ll listen.  If that helps.”

Her expression calmed at his clumsy admission and she leaned over him, kissing him softly.  “Thank you, John.  That means a lot.” After another kiss, she pressed a firm hand into his chest and sat back.  “That doesn’t change the fact that we could have had another psychologist brought on board.”

“I couldn’t risk that,” he whispered and smiled sadly.  “If I admit to a psychologist that I’m having nightmares and feeling enraged and frustrated and that sometimes when I’m alone, I find myself drifting away.  Then suddenly I realize what I was doing and a lot of time has past and I have no idea what I was thinking about.  Do you really think that I would be proclaimed ‘Fit for Duty’ and allowed to continue?”

She frowned, brow furrowed in thought.  He chuckled and shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter.  I can’t afford to be struggling with these things.  I’ve got a job to do.  The Collectors are here and we’re going to stop them.  Then the Reapers are coming.  I can’t just stop.  I want to.  I want to stop, to give up and just rest.  But I can’t.  It’s not in me to give up so I have to keep going.  I can’t admit defeat.  Maybe I have angry moments of weakness, but that’s all it is.”

Reflective, Miranda stroked a gentle hand along his chest.  A thin sheen of biotics emitted from beneath her palm, tickling his skin.  His muscles twitched and he shifted, humming contently at the chilling sensation.  “Maybe that’s what this is,” she whispered.  “A moment of weakness and not a crisis of faith.”

His hand tightened on her waist, offering comfort and his eyes fell half-lidded at her ministrations.  “Why would you say that?”  He husked; he could not hide the pleasure of her touch.

Meeting his gaze, she wrestled with her thoughts as the biotics receded.  “I crossed countless ethical boundaries to resurrect you.  But when I sit here and see you … touch you,” her hand skimmed along his chest then up to his neck, hovering over his throat.  “I don't regret it.”

“You brought me back from the dead.  The dead, Miranda.  Think about that for a second.”  He reached up, gently wrapping his fingers around her wrist and pulled her biotically pulsing hand down to his heart.  “And not just recently dead.  Really dead.”

“And here you are,” she said, softly.

He brushed his fingers back and forth on her hip, trying to sooth her. “Here I am. Because of you.” He studied her carefully, dancing through the minefield of her doubt and uncertainty. Something bothered her, nagging away at a part of her mind. He knew what that was like, to have an action of the past needle until in absolute frustration, the flood gates opened. She needed to share, to release the tensions that weighed upon her shoulders. She just did not realize it yet.

He was on the verge of a breakthrough with her. He could feel it. “Miranda, what did you dream about?”

She absently traced a figure-eight pattern along the cut lines of his abs. Her rhythm stopped at his question, and she peered up at him. She hesitated to answer him, but at his unwavering patience, she admitted. “The Lazarus Project.”

Shepard nodded slowly, struggling to control his body's reaction to her teasing ministrations. Now was not the time for a raging erection. He exhaled slowly, and he abandoned her hip to entwine his fingers with hers. He clasped her hand, holding it still against him. “I can't imagine what you had to do over those two years.”

“It wasn't easy.”

Shepard inwardly cursed. He was losing her. He sat up, cupping her cheek to force her eyes to his. “What is the last thing you remember from your dream?”

She reached up to pull his hand away from her face. “It doesn't matter now. It's gone.”

“It matters to me. Tell me,” he pressed and squeezed her hand. His lip quirked in a boyish smirk. “Shock me, Ms. Lawson. I can take it.”

“I don't think you could,” she replied, simply and smiled sadly, shaking her head.

“Try me.”

She raked a hand through her hair, tugging on the tangles and averted her eyes from him. “You want to know the last thing I was thinking?” She shook her head again, a pained expression on her face. “I can't tell you that. I know what you think of Cerberus, what our rogue cells have done, and what you think we stand for.”

“And what you tell me will validate my thoughts?” he concluded. “If your insight could combat it, you wouldn't hesitate to correct my assessment. So what you're going to say is along those same lines, isn't it? Like the rachni queen? Like Jack?”

“No,” she vehemently denied. “It's not like that. What we were doing to you … what we had to do was vital to ensure the project succeeded.” Sighing, she reached for him, brushing her fingertips along his cheek under his eyes.

His eyes fluttered closed at her touch, and he turned slightly into the grazing fingertips. “Just tell me, Miranda,” he whispered.

She licked her lips and quietly admitted, “I watched as one of our scientists stretched a vorcha out onto a table, intubated, him then removed his eyes.  And after we implanted the synthetics on the backs of his eye sockets, I didn’t even flinch when we woke him up to see what would happen.” Unblinking, she watched him, waiting for a reaction. Her touch stilled on his cheek, awaiting his rebuff.

Shepard bit back the initial response of disgust.  Again, another example of Cerberus experimentation and monstrous practices, this time delivered from the lips of the woman he loved. She actually admitted to being a party to such a despicable act. He resisted the urge to call her on the atrocities, to rail against Cerberus and tear the logos from every uniform in his quarters.  But Miranda finally opened to him about her past, though drastic and horrifying.  He needed to keep calm.

He released a slow and steady breath then asked, “Why did you do that?”

“It had to work,” she answered, softly.  “It had to.” With a sigh, she ducked her head.  “When you came to me, you had no eyes.  Among many other things but your sight … it was vital.  I wasn’t convinced with the data we had and there could be no mistakes.  We had a limited number of organs and …” She trailed off, noting the radiating tension in his shoulders and the closed expression on his face as he wrestled with her admission.

She pulled back from him, offering him space. Easing towards the foot of the bed, she gathered the sheet around her. She paused, her eyes catching the glint of the deteriorated, old N7 helmet on the near shelf.

Shepard rubbed his hands over his face. He knew his eye color had changed. He noticed the difference the moment he first looked in the mirror after his resurrection.  He woke on the Lazarus station to hours of fierce combat and non-stop movement until finally, aboard the Normandy, he could relax.  After relieving himself, he walked to the sink to wash his hands and froze, transfixed at the altered sight.  He had leaned close to the mirror, looking to one side then the next, searching for some kind of lens implant or contact lens that would cause the color change.  But none were there.  His eyes were blue. Were they even his eyes?

There was a startling minute of panic as he stared at himself in the mirror and stripped away his clothes to inspect his body, searching for other discrepancies.  Everything else appeared fine, though he could not remember the exact dimensions of his muscle mass or if that mole was on the back of his thigh.  Maybe it was a little lower before?  

Closely following the realization that his body was intact, he suffered a second panic due to the fact that he was resurrected from the dead.

Shepard sighed and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Striding the few feet to the aquarium, he paused at the foot of the stairs. Locking his hands behind his neck, he stared into the tank in reflection. His last fish bobbed belly-up at the top of the water, its once vivid colors dulled and faded. He hoped it was not an omen.

That first night after being brought back to life, he sat on the floor of his private bathroom, stunned. He spent hours thinking about the hows and whys of his resurrection but was unable to resolve any of his thoughts.  Joker prompted him incessantly every ten minutes for a destination and soon the on board AI began inquired as to his well-being.  Shepard compartmentalized the concepts of the Lazarus Project and had not revisited them in great detail since that first evening.  Miranda’s admission reopened the door.

How many died or suffered so that he would live again?  What else did Miranda do to achieve her goal and breathe life into his ravaged and frozen corpse?  His fists clenched, and his jaw tensed.  He waited, pushing away and sorting through the racing anger, fear, and uncertainty that resurfaced with her frank admission.  He turned to face Miranda.

She sat on the edge of the bed wrapped in his linen sheet, one hand clutching the sheet to her breast.  Her legs were crossed and her feet peeked out from under the fabric.  She was looking to the side in haunting profile from the low light.  Her elbow rested on her knee and fingers absently brushed her lips as she stared at the N7 helmet on his small dresser.  

She was lost in the past, her gaze fixed but mind far away from his simple quarters.  He swallowed hard.  “Baby, what am I?”  Was he actually human?  Was he truly alive or was he moving, breathing and thinking because internal synthetics willed it?

At first, he was not sure she heard him, but her head eventually tilted and her intelligent gaze scanned his form, highlighted by the bright fluorescence of the nearby aquarium.  She perused his body, professional as if judging him.  After nearly a minute of silence she shook her head with a sad smile.  “A living legend.”

He scowled and descended the stairs.  She motioned to him with a casual flick of the hand.  “Look at you.  You’re chiseled as if a work of art.  There is not a single imperfection in your form.  Your muscles, your strength, your bones, your sight, your hearing.  Everything is perfect.”

“You talk about me like I'm some sort of god. I'm not,” he sneered and glared down at himself.

“Shepard, you single-handedly grabbed the galaxy by the throat and forced it to face an apocalyptic threat.  You propped us upon your shoulders and defeated Saren, Sovereign, and the geth.  And if that isn’t enough, what about the last few months?  Why don’t we think about everything you’ve accomplished recently?  Or how about what we are about to do?”

He did not like to think about that.  He dwelled not on the victories and lives saved but on the lives lost by his decisions and his own hand.  How many did he kill in the name of peace?  How many died on the Destiny Ascension so that Sovereign could be defeated?  To think about the volume of blood spilt or the lives lost in the campaign against the Reapers would cripple him if he let the guilt and truth of his choices weigh upon him.  No, he was not ready to face that yet.  He approached the foot of his bed and dropped to his knees.  She called herself a monster for her mistakes, her faults, and her choices.  If she thought herself a monster, what kind of demon was he?

He reached for her, cupping her cheek and turned her gaze to his.  “What did you do to me?”

“Everything,” she replied.  “We grew you.  Your organs, your muscles, your skin.  We just grew you.”

“And my eyes?  You grew those or are they a donor’s?”

Miranda brushed her fingers over his brow, around his eye then over his cheek.  “They’re yours.  There are so many variables to eye color.  I researched it for weeks as we tried to make sure they were perfect.  Did you know, there is no blue pigment in the eye to make blue eyes?  It is all relative to light and the amount of melanin.  It’s complicated, but none of the samples grown were exactly the same.  The variables were maddening.”

Her hand dropped and she tugged the sheet higher against her chest.  “What we couldn’t grow, we used synthetic materials.  Mostly for your skeleton, joints but other areas too.”

“So what?  Am I even human?”

She scoffed.  “What do you think you are?  Krogan?”

He sneered and gripped the edges of the bed to either side of her hips.  “A geth with god damned skin?  I dunno.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she dismissed and touched his shoulders then chest.  “You have this.  Muscle, blood, organs, a conscience.  Just because you have some synthetic modifications doesn’t mean you’re not human.  You need to eat, sleep, wash.  For God's sake, you can get an erection.  How could you possibly think you’re geth?”

“You said once that you needed to come to terms with your creation.  Maybe I need to do the same.”  His chin jutted outwards, proudly.  “What do you see when you look at me?”  His brow furrowed and eyes cleared in realization.  “You weren’t lying back then.  When you said I was a project.  A success.  I thought you were just trying to distance yourself from me but you really saw me as just a prototype.”

“Sometimes,” she answered and when he moved to push away from her, she reached for him, her hand gripping the muscled flesh on the back of his neck.  “I can’t help it.  I can’t.  You were …” she sighed.  “I don’t know.”  

“You don’t know?” he huffed.

“John, how can you expect me to completely forget the last two years and everything I saw and did to bring you back?  You’re more to me than a project but don’t hold it against me because sometimes when looking at you, I’m reminded of what you looked like lying on an operating table before me.  Dead.”

She was right.  How could he hold that against her?  It would be like forgetting about Sovereign everytime he saw a diagram of a reaper, or forgetting about the colonists whenever he saw the collector ship hologram.  

Shepard frowned.  He was obsessing over his own issues after Miranda opened up about a personal struggle.  She rarely opened to him and always was there to comfort him, and she needed him now to alleviate her fears, her insecurities.  He pushed away the thoughts and fears regarding himself and focused on her.  “I’m sorry.  I made this all about me and it was about you.”

“Shepard …”

“No,” he shook his head.  “I’m sorry.  For the Lazarus project, you did what you had to do to succeed.  And you crossed some lines.  I have too.  But we can’t take it back and all we can do is use that to move forward.” He tucked her hair behind her ear then trailed his fingers down the side of his neck.  “We were both created under really bizarre circumstances.  So we just have to do the best we can with what chance we were given.”

“I wouldn't change the past,” Miranda replied.  “Every choice means that you are here right now, just as you are.  We tweaked and change some of the procedure with that vorcha and your perfect sight is the result.  Don’t you see, Shepard?  It worked.  You are here with me now because it all worked.”

He filed away the moral consequences of his reconstruction, unwilling to let it weigh upon him so close to the coming battle.  Though a part of him wanted to know the exact procedures done in the name of his resurrection, he resisted.  In the end, it did not matter.  He had no intention of taking his life, and he would not hold Miranda’s past against her.  He needed to focus on the Collectors and the Reapers.

Distantly reflective for a long few minutes, Miranda soon turned her attention back to Shepard, searching his eyes and expression.  He cupped the back of her neck, tugging her gently forward and kissed her.  Still clutching the sheet close, she reached for him with her free hand and gripped his bicep.  He sighed contently as she returned his kiss.  

Months ago, she tensed every time he kissed her as if unused to the affection.  She eventually relaxed, returning his kiss or touching him, teasing him or hugging him, but there was that initial response of resistance, uncertainty, or surprise.  No longer.  Often, she matched his affection, opening up and gladly accepting his touch or kiss.  She even instigated on many occasions, and he enjoyed watching her break away from the comfort of her highly erected walls to accept him and the budding emotions between them.

As she deepened the kiss, he groaned and his hands roamed down her body, stroking her sides and waist.  She released the sheet to touch his face, his cheeks then his throat and she shifted closer to the edge of the mattress, opening her legs as he eased closer to her.  Absolute contentment soothed him as her knees clamped against his sides.  He pulled her into him, one arm binding around her waist as the other tugged at the sheet wound around her, his hand sneaking beneath the fabric to touch the skin of her hip then back.

She hummed at the contact and eased a little closer, hooking one heel behind his thigh.  Desire stirred within him, and he grappled with the thought of taking her right there, pulling her the rest of the way off the bed until she slid onto …

Trailing his mouth down her throat, his hand tightened on her hip as her head tilted back, offering him access to anything he desired.  He loved that about her lately.  She succumbed to passion, losing herself in the moment and relished his every attention.  He resisted kissing down her body and instead nibbled and nipped at the sensitive junction of her shoulder and neck.  He found that delightful spot late one evening and never forgot it.

She trembled, a hitched breath sucked in between her teeth.  He grinned and the hand on her hip slid up her waist to her breast.  She chuckled at the contact, her fingers tightening on the back of his head.  He whispered in her ear.  “Well, you don’t kiss me like you think I’m a walking corpse.”

“Mmm, how would you know?”

He pulled back, mock startled at the crack.  “Well, Ms. Lawson, this is some very interesting information I should have been made aware of long ago.”

“Really?” She arched a perfectly sculpted brow.  “You are actually insinuating I have a necrophilia complex.  I hope you realize how absolutely asinine that suggestion is.”

He laughed and kissed her softly once then again before easing back from her.  He pointed to the head of the bed.  “Get back there.  My knees are starting to ache.”

“Funny that,” she quipped and slid back on the bed.  “I’m starting to like the view with you down there.”

“Been trying to get there for months,” he teased and crawled up onto the bed.  “So you’re having a change of heart?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed and flippantly waved a hand at him, eyes on his groin.  “And I hope you don’t plan on me taking care of that.”

“Was hoping for it,” he stretched out on the bed, laying on his back.  “I guess this means I don’t get any covers?”

“You never do,” she stated, flatly.  At his deep chuckle, she smiled and lay beside him, her head on his chest as she tightened the sheet around her.  He sighed, eyes closed and his hand slid along her back again, stroking soothingly.

Miranda rested an open palm on his chest, flaring her biotics.  She watched the tendrils teasing the hair on his chest, flicking and brushing through the strands in an absent dance.  She could not afford to let memories of her past cripple her in her coming battle with the Collectors, the Reapers, likely, her father, and maybe even, Cerberus.  She struggled and wrestled with her past, but she had to overcome it.  She could not allow her doubts and fears to conquer her or stop her from their ultimate goal - to survive the Reapers.

Her struggles paled to Shepard’s and he carried everything so stoically, bravely, and without complaint.  They could not afford for him to quit and stop fighting despite the adverse effects the war would have on his body and mind.   She shifted, resting her chin on his pecs to look up at him.  “When this is all over and we’ve won, you need to retire.”

He smiled, eyes still closed.  “Mmm, on a nice quiet colony.  Garden world.  Warm sun, fresh food.  It’d be heaven.  You’d be with me, of course.”

“I would?” she teased.  “I don’t know, Shepard.  I have a bit too much motivation to just sit back and do nothing for the rest of my life.  I’m too driven.”

“I didn’t say you had to retire,” he feigned innocence, glancing down at her, eyes half-lidded.  “Just that you would be there when I did.  Wherever it is.  You could be queen of the colony for all I care.”

At her soft chuckle, he tickled his fingers down her back then up again to her waist.  “The Lazarus Project wasn’t all bad.  Got to rekindle my friendship with Garrus, save his ass, meet some interesting people, have some of the best sex of my life.”  When she arched a questioning brow, he sat up to kiss her.  “Don’t deny it.”

“Only some of?  Not the best?”

He laughed.  “The best sex of my life.  Plus, I’m stronger than I was before, can hold more weight and move faster than I ever could.  My vision is better, much clearer than it was.  I heal quicker, can take a brutal beating, then regenerate, and come back ready for more.  And,” he smirked, flirtatiously and glanced down his body.  “I think you gave me an extra inch or so where it counts.  What is that all about, Ms. Lawson?” he teasingly met her eyes again.  “Wanted to make sure I fit just right?  You know, so it was the best sex of your life?”

“Oh my God,” she shoved at his shoulder and sat up.  “You are such an ass!” She was unable to keep the laughter from her voice as his grin spread wider.  How did he do that?  With a few jokes, he managed to break through her depressing self reflection and brought a smile to her face.  “I did no such thing.  And I can guarantee you that this,” she motioned between them with her free hand, “... was the last thing I was expecting.  I promise you that.”

“Yeah?” He stroked his hand along the sheet, and tried to ease it between the folds to touch her.  “And what is this?”

“Complicated,” she replied then admitted softly. “But worth it.”

“Very worth it,” he answered and tightened his hand on her waist.  “Miranda, I love you.”  He professed and when her eyes widened in stunned shock, his abs contracted and he sat up, leaning towards his side.  Before she could run or reply, he cupped her cheek with one hand, the other pressed into the mattress for balance.  “I need you to know that.  I don’t know what we’re flying into or what could happen and we’re probably not coming back from this alive.”

“John …” she whispered.

His thumb pressed to her lips, silencing her.  “Don’t.  I don’t want you to say it back.  That’s not why I’m telling you this.”  His eyes drifted downward, focusing on the black choker that was perpetually around her neck.  “I know you might not be there yet, ready to admit what it actually is between us.  And that’s ok.  I don’t need to hear it.  Not now.  But I want you to know that we’re going in there together and I’m not coming back without you.  And if you die there, I’ll follow you into that darkness.  I’m not afraid of it.  I’ve been there before.”

She released the sheet and cupped his cheeks, jaw tense and voice trembling with restrained emotion.  “Stop.  That’s not fair, John.  You can’t just make this kind of proclamation and then blow off my response before I have a chance to utter it.  How do you know that I’m not ready to tell you I love you?  Hmm?” she shook his cheeks gently for punctuation.  “And I’ve known how you feel for some time now.  You can’t hide it from me because I’m very perceptive.  Just like I hoped that you could see how I feel about you.”  

She sighed and ducked her head, eyes closed as she draped her arms around his neck.  His hands, calloused and strong stroked down her back then up again.  “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not,” she answered, softly.  “But saying that we love each other does not change how this will end.  You’ve told Hackett that you will surrender to the Alliance if we survive when this is over.  I will not surrender to the Alliance.  That means our paths will separate.  Likely, for good.”

“Maybe,” he said and pulled her closer.  He sighed as her arms tightened around his neck.  “But that still doesn’t mean I can’t love you.”

Her nails dug into the muscled flesh of his shoulder and she choked out.  “Damn you, John.”

He brushed his mouth along her throat, kissing and nipping the tense and trembling tendons, focusing on the sensitive junctures that always made her squirm.  When she shivered, he growled, swirling his tongue and nibbling.  His hands tightened on her back, pulling on the muscles of her lower shoulder and her head tilted to the side, giving him more access to her throat.  “We’re gonna make it back,” he muttered and nipped just under her jaw.

“Are we?” she sighed and scratched her fingers along the back of his head, tickling the shorn hair.  “Are you lying to me?” Sarcasm teased her tone.

He shook his head and pressed a kiss to her neck then leaned back.  “Nope.  We’re going to make it because it is just way too cliché for us to die after saying ‘I love you.’  And I refuse to be any more cliché than I already am.”

She laughed, cupping his cheeks with both hands again and she brushed a thumb over his bottom lip.  “You think your life is a cliché?”

“Of course,” he grinned.  He loved making her laugh.  She was so free, so open when she smiled and lost herself in humor.  He remembered her saying months ago that she had no sense of humor.  He begged to differ.  “I am a walking cliché.  Think about it.”

“Mmm?”

He pursed his lips against her thumb and gripped her waist, holding her near.  “I’m a grunt nobody soldier that is on a standard quest when something magical happens.  Prothean Beacon.  Then I’m thrust into a galactic quest to save the universe.  And I do.  Saren and the Geth are defeated.  Then I die, valiantly.  Now, the next part strays from the norm.  But I come back to life just to do it all again.  Oh, and I get the beautiful girl.”

She chuckled.  “I suppose you’re right.  It does not get more cliché than that.”

“Sure, it does,” he dragged her across his body and lay her upon her back.  He tugged at the sheet that twisted around her.  “Now comes the part where we make passionate love one more time before the final battle.”

“Oh, it is, is it?” she shifted, arching her back then lifting her hips to help him pull the sheet away and she slid her hands along his side, waist and to his back.  “I thought you wanted to break away from the cliché.”

“I do.  Tomorrow.”

She smiled at that, one hand cupping the back of his head to pull him down and she kissed him softly.  “Alright.  Then make love to me,” she purred.

A primitive growl rumbled deep in his throat and he sealed his mouth to hers in a deep and passionate kiss.


End file.
